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THE 

ROAD TO THE STAGE, 

CONTAINS 

CLEAR AND AMPLE INSTRUCTIONS FOR OBTAINING 

THEATRICAL ENGAGEMENTS; 

WITH 

A-LIST OF THE PROVINCIAL THEATRES, NAMES OF THE MANAGERS, AND 

PARTICULARS AS TO SALARIES, RULES, FINES, &C. ; AN ACCOUNT 

OF THINGS NECESSARY ON AN OUTSET IN THE PROFESSION, 

HOW AND WHERE OBTAINED J AND A CLEAR 

ELUCIDATION OF ALL THE TECHNICALITIES 

OF THE HISTRIONIC ART. 

TO WHICH IS ADDED, 

A LIST OF THE LONDON THEATRES; 

Copies of their Rules and Articles of Engagement ; 

&n Account of tfje Uramatic ^utfjorg' j&ocutg ; 

THE MEMBERS ; SCALE OF PRICES ; 

AND 

A COPY OF THE DRAMATIC COPYRIGHT ACT. 



BY THE LATE 

LEMAN THOMAS REDE. 



A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND IMPROVED. 

LONDON : 
PUBLISHED BY J. ONWHYN, 

CATHERINE STREET, STRAND . 
' 1836. 



"T^s. 



1,** 



"'■-i 



WILLIAM HENRY COX, 

Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. 



MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 



Leman Thomas Tertius Rede (the author of the 
following pages) was the son of Mr. L. T. Rede, of 
the Inner Temple, author of " An Essay on the 
Laws of England," " Anecdotes and Biography," 
&c. &c., who died at Hamburgh, December, 1806, 
when the writer of the little work to which this 
notice is affixed was only seven years of age, he 
having been born on the 14th of October, 1799, in 
Clerkenwell Close, London. At an early age, Mr. 
Rede chose the law for his profession ; but his design 
of treading in the steps of his father and that father's 
father, was frustrated by a dramatic bias, which in- 
duced him to leave 

" Common law to common men," 

and attempt the stage. He made his first appear- 
ance as Wilford, in the town of Stafford, in 1819; 
and in the year 1821 appeared at the Adelphi 
Theatre, London, in a farce called " Capers at Can- 
terbury." An accident, which befel him at Margate 
shortly afterwards, induced him to resign the idea 
of making the stage permanently his profession ; 
he became connected with the press, and devoted 
his attention to literary pursuits. In 1824, he pro- 
jected an extended dramatic biography ; towards 
the close of that year, he married the widow of the 
late Mr. Oxberry, the comedian, and produced the 



IV MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 

first volume of the work known by the title of 
" Oxberry's Dramatic Biography and Histrionic 
Anecdotes." "With the aid of a relative, this work 
was extended to seven volumes; but in consequence 
of some of the lives having been withdrawn, and 
some portions occasionally cancelled, it is to this 
hour incomplete. He also produced " The Modern 
Speaker," with an Essay on Elocution; and in 1827 
a "Life of Canning," one volume, thick octavo. This 
work (in which the aid of the relative before alluded 
to is fraternally acknowledged) is the one that does 
most credit to his talents. He was the author also 
of many volumes to which he did not put his name ; 
whilst, on some few occasions, he gave the use of 
it to productions with which he had nothing to do : 
indeed, in the case of a provincial work, entitled 
" York Castle in the Nineteenth Century," to which 
his name is prefixed, a prefatory notice admits that 
the alleged author had never even seen a line of the 
book. He was an occasional contributor to some 
periodicals, and connected at different times with 
various newspapers. As a companion, he was much 
sought; his powers were less dazzling than en- 
gaging; and, perhaps, few men had a more exten- 
sive circle of convivial acquaintances. In 1829, he 
returned to the stage, and conducted the Queen's 
Theatre for a short period ; and from that period to 
the time of his death, he occasionally (though 
seldom) acted. In November, 1832, he per- 
formed The Gentleman in Black in his brother's 
drama of " The Loves of the Devils," at Sadler's 
Wells, for the benefit of Miss Forde. On the 12th 
of December following, he expired (after a short but 
severe illness) of a disorder of the heart, His 
remains were interred in Clerkenwell Church-yard. 
Of one, whose social qualities, talents, and disposi- 
tion, made him the delight of every circle in which 
he mingled, much more might justly be said, but 



MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. V 

the subject can only involve the obtrusion of private 
sorrows on the public ear. Mr. Rede's enemies (if 
he had any) will declare that he was in heart and 
mind a man, in manners a gentleman, in acquirement 
a scholar, of unquestioned courage, gentle, cha- 
ritable, and unassuming ; formed to adorn any sta- 
tion, from his personal as well as mental advantages. 
He met death as a certain visitor, who came sooner 
than he had hoped, but whose approaches he en- 
countered with an unchanged mind. He left a 
widow, but no child, to deplore him; and is sur- 
vived bj>- his mother, by three sisters, and a brother, 
who feels his irreparable loss too much to add one 
word more to this brief notice. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



" The Road to the Stage" was out of print prior to 
the Author's decease; his illness prevented the pro- 
duction of a new edition, with additions, which was 
contemplated by him. The alteration produced in 
the law of dramatic copyright by 3 Gul. IV., cap. 15, 
and the great changes that have occurred in dramatic 
property of all descriptions since 1827, made the 
former lists useless ; much has therefore been written 
anew, much has been added and nothing taken from 
the work in this edition, save only such matter as 
by the lapse of time and change of circumstance had 
become wholly useless.* Amid the additions will 
be found extended and corrected lists of London and 
provincial managers ; an account of the Dramatic 
Authors' Society, a list of its members, a scale of its 
charges, and a copy of the Dramatic Copyright Bill. 

W. L. R. 

London, March, 1835. 



* Mr. Rede had alluded in several places to some scenic efforts of 
the present Editor, which he has of course in this edition omitted. 



THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE, 



It is so customary to state in all prefaces, that the work 
produced was imperatively called for, that I should hesitate 
in adopting so threadbare an expedient, if it did not singu- 
larly occur that, with regard to the book I have written, it 
is literally the fact. I am aware of no treatise, essay, or 
article, professing to point out the incipient steps to the 
green-room : whether I have done wisely in attempting one, 
it rests with the public to determine. Too poor to write for 
fame, I trust I am also too honest to write for money only ; 
and I should "dwell in mine necessity" rather than give 
these pages to the press, if I imagined their effect would be 
injurious. " They will render access to the boards more easy, 
and ruin the apprentices and lawyers' clerks," say my oppo- 
nents. " They will do the first, but not the second," replies 
Experience. Minds, like pigs, love to run a different road 
from that which they are driven ; drive them then to the 
wrong road, and they will diverge to the point you wish — in 
fact, all opposition heightens the dramatic bias. After the 
perusal of the following pages, any one will be enabled to 
find his way to the footlights of some provincial theatre, the 
experience of which will do more to cure him of his mania, 
than all the arguments and persuasions that ingenuity ever 
invented. A country actor in a small company, and 
aspiring to a first-rate situation, will invariably have to 
study about five hundred lines per diem — (it is astonishing 
how many persons are cured by this alone ;) this will occupy 
the possessor of a good memory for six hours — his duties at 
the theatre embrace four more in the morning for rehearsal, 
and about five at night; here are fifteen hours devoted to 
labour alone, to say nothing of the time required to study 
the character, after the mere attainment of the words. Let 
the stage-struck aspirant endure this, and, if a radical cure 
be not effected, he has the scenic phobia, and had better be 
given to the stage at once, for he will never fix to anything 



viii author's preface. 

For success upon the stage, it is requisite to possess good 
sense — a good face, good figure — good education — good 
voice — and, above all, good luck — but the latter ingredient 
makes man independent of all the others, and the reader will 
have no difficulty in pointing out many metropolitan actors, 
who owe their situations to the latter, though totally destitute 
of all the other attributes. 

" A dog of mine," says the celebrated Mathews, " should 
not go upon the stage," and he says wisely, for the profes- 
sion is fraught with toil, anxiety, and misery, beyond any 
other; but if that dog cannot be happy out of this hotbed 
of misery, in Heaven's name let him be a miserable puppy 
in it. 

The few pages which I have obtruded on the public view, 
I have sought to render easy to every capacity — I have said 
plain things in plain words, willing to save myself and the 
reader trouble — I only recommend the book on the score 
of utility, and whoever pleases is at liberty to criticise it for 
its dulness. 

Having had some experience (to my sorrow) , I am apt to 
believe my judgment tolerably correct on theatrical matters ; 
I have also consulted the judgment of others, and, in several 
instances, have " laid down my opinion to take up theirs." 
I have spared no pains to obtain accurate information, and 
have preferred saying nothing to saying that which I could 
not substantiate — I presume, therefore, that I have done my 
duty to my readers. 

I am well aware that most of those who may peruse this 
little volume will pass over the Preface, and I am also assured 
that, had I the eloquence of Suavia, I should not persuade 
any reader to adopt my opinions in preference to his own. 
I shall therefore conclude, by assuring my perusers that 

I am, their humble servant, 

LEMAN THOMAS REDE. 
London, 1827- 



THE 



ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



That a general prejudice exists in the breasts of 
parents and preceptors against the stage, is as unde- 
niable, as that a love of it is common to the young 
and inexperienced. That the oft reiterated complaints 
of the uncertainty attending this ill-fated profession 
are true, I shall not attempt to deny, but it must be 
remembered that its rewards are also considerable. 
If we are to be told that numbers have existed in 
barns, and expired in workhouses, we should also 
recollect that many have rolled in carriages, that 
could never, but for the stage, have emerged from 
behind a counter. 

I should not advise any being, however great his 
or her powers may be — however lavish nature may 
have been in the dispensation of those gifts, by which, 
as it is supposed, success in the histrionic art, may be 
insured — I should not advise any being to go upon 
the stage ; nor should I ever attempt to deter any 
one from embracing it. I too well know the futility of 
counsel where it has to combat inclination. It is cer- 
tain that no man can succeed in any business whilst 
his mind is fixed upon another pursuit — and those 
who know how strong a dramatic infatuation is, 
will, I think, agree with me, that parents sacrifice 
their children's interests in determinedly opposing 
it. John Reeve quitted a banking-house contrary to 



2 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

the advice of all his relatives, yet he has cause to re- 
joice in a resolution that has raised him at once to 
an income he could never have hoped to have 
gained in his original station — indeed, he blesses 
the day when he left ofTbeing a cheque-taker to turn 
comedian. 

Perhaps that father would most truly study the 
welfare of his child who should, on discovering his 
dramatic bias, send him at once to some country 
company, instead of driving him, by his opposition, 
to duplicity when at home, and to seek his favourite 
amusement in private theatres abroad; — as long as 
acting affords entertainment to the performer, he 
must like it — make it his business — his duty — and, 
in nine cases out of ten, a cure will be effected, 

The practice that a private theatre affords is 
usually pernicious, and mistaken are those parents 
who consent to their children performing at those 
establishments, to learn the rudiments of the profes- 
sion. At private theatres, no man studies rudiments 
— everyone grasps at first-rate characters, which are 
awarded, not to strength of intellect, but of pocket — 
for the merest booby who could command two pounds, 
would be cast Richard, in preference to a Kean, if 
he could only afford ten shillings. 

I do not wish to join in the common-place censure 
levelled at private theatres, though I have reason to 
fear there is too much truth in the character generally 
given of these places. There are indeed exceptions, 
but their number is limited. 

To any person whose mind is so far engaged with 
the dramatic mania, as to be unsettled with regard to 
other professions — to one to whom all other modes 
of existence appear "flat, stale, and unprofitable " — 
I should say enter it at once — and now the how be- 
comes the question. 

I shall reserve the mention of the things necessary 
for any performer on his outset for another part of 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 3 

the work, and proceed at once to explain the method 
of procuring a situation. At the Harp (a public- 
house in Russell-street, immediately opposite the 
pit-door of Drury), resides Mr. Sims, the theatrical 
agent, and his hours of business are from eleven 
o'clock until three. On the payment of an intro- 
ductory fee of seven shillings, he enters the name of; 
the applicant in his books, together with the line of 
the drama he may wish to fill — and, on the procura- 
tion of a situation, he proportions his demand to the 
amount of the salary obtained; but it seldom exceeds 
the total of one week's stipend. 

Mr. Sims holds the situation held for so many 
years by his father; to the manners and acquire- 
ments of a gentleman, he adds an intimate know- 
ledge of the profession, and his promptitude in 
business is only equalled by his urbanity and good- 
nature. It has been matter of regret in the profes- 
sion, that Mr. Sims has not chosen some other place 
for his house of business, as it is peculiarly unplea- 
sant, especially to ladies, to make calls at a house of 
public entertainment. Mr. S. will, it is trusted, take 
this hint as it is meant : his duties are most important, 
and we should be glad to see him adopt all the means 
in his power for affording a greater facility of com- 
munication w T ith all dramatic professors. 

Mr. Turnour (of Covent Garden Theatre) has an 
office in Bow-street, and is also a dramatic agent — 
his mode of transacting business is similar to that of 
Mr. Sims. Mr. Kenneth, at the corner of the same 
street, also procures engagements for aspirants, and 
Mr. Miller, of Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, is 
in constant communication with all provincial 
managers (as agent to the Dramatic Author's So- 
ciety) though he does not act as an agent between 
actors and managers except indeed such as meditate 
a transatlantic trip. 

Though every creature that places a foot upon the 



4 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

boards does so in expectation of becoming a favourite 
in the metropolis, it is ascertained that only one in 
one hundred, on an average, comes to the royal 
theatres in any capacity at all — nor do I mention 
this as matter of regret. Many provincial situations 
are preferable to London ones ; the favourite of the 
Bath, Dublin, Edinburgh, and Glasgow Theatres, 
may, with reasonable prudence, realize from four to 
five hundred pounds per annum; and an income 
equal to that has been amassed in the York circuit. 
An engagement of twelve guineas per week at a 
royal theatre amounts, with the deductions made 
during Lent, Passion Week, and the usual vaca- 
tion to something less than five hundred pounds a 
year. 

The usual amount of salaries in our provinces will 
be seen in the subjoined list. The greatest care has 
been taken to make it correct — but complete ac- 
curacy it is impossible to attain :* the reader may 
depend upon its being very nearly so, as it has been 
procured from sources accessible to few. 

There are some itinerant companies unnamed in 
this list; but no company of any importance has 
been omitted; and the reader must be aware, that 
to have rendered an account of all the wandering 
Thespians of the United Kingdom, would have been 
difficult and Useless. 

* Chelmsford has changed its manager every year for four sea- 
sons. Cheltenham and Birmingham has also had a vast variety of 
managers ; all therefore that can he done is to vouch that the list is 
correct up to the day of publication. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



A LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL PROVINCIAL 
MANAGERS IN ENGLAND, IRELAND, 
SCOTLAND, AND WALES, 

Man. Names. Town or Circuits, Salary , fyc. 

A j E ^ NDER '}Carlisle, Glasgow 18s. to £2 10s. 

(The latter town is Mr. A's 
head quarters, and he visits 
several other towns in Scot- 
land). 

f Varying at the 

f Croydon, Guildford,New- | small Towns 

Barnett, E.<* bury, Oxford, Reading,<( from 18s. to 

l^and Ryde j ^1 5s., Oxford 

Up to £3 
(Open all the Year), 

{Ashby de la Zouch,^ 
Shrewsbury, Worcester, ( 
Wolverhampton, and i 
Stourbridge J 

Bennett, (Devonport, Exeter, and) 
Mrs \ Guernsey J 

-r, I Queen's Theatre, Liver- 1 

Beverley, J ^ and the Minor9 at ( £l tQ £2 

(Manchester J 

^'V^a}^- 

(The Season generally com- 
mences about the close of 
July, and ends in February). 

Burroughs, \ Bdfest and Preston 

Watkins J 

Ca j c w FT ' \ Dublin Theatre R °y al £l l0s - t0 ^ 6 

(Sometimes the Company 
migrate to Cork and other 
Towns). 

B2 



6 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Man. Names, Town or Circuits. Salary, fyc 

Calvert Dublin Minor £\ to £3 



CI £*&!U } Manchester > Live n>ooi 

SGainsboro 
castle, L 
ham, Pc 
Worksop 



C Gainsborough, Horn- ^\ 
Clarke and J castle, Louth, Rother- f lg5 tQ n^ ^ 
Huggins... j ham, Pontefract, and t 



Dawson, J 



f Bodmin, Penryn, Pen-"| 

...2 zance, Falmouth, and > 

t Truro J 



C York Circuit— i. e. York, ~) 
Downe, T.J. < Leeds, Hull, and Wake->£1 to £5 
£ field > 

(At York, generally at Races 
and Assizes— in Leeds, dur- 
ing summer — and at Hull, 
from November to March). 

"Beccles, Bungay, Down- 

^ham, Eyr, East Durham, f 

Fisher, C....<^Halesworth, Sudbury, > Average £ I 

^Swaffham, Newmarket, 

and Woodbridge 

1 Doncaster, (opening at"J 
t T A1l/r „ rkV __ lRaces), the Liver, Liver- / 

w J -<pool,withMr.Raymond,V < £lto l £2 10s. 

#and Sheffield — occasion- 1 

f ally visiting other Towns j 

Harvey Guernsey 

f Gainsborough, Horn- "") 
Huggins and J castle, Louth, Rother- I lfi *,, . 

n r iT .^-r* S liotv, Pn«+ A. »t or,^ >±OS» tO ^,1 IS. 



Clarke ... j ham, Pontefract, and , 
(_ Worksop 



{Aylesbury, Banbury, "\ 
Bedford, Buckingham, f k>j 
Wallingford, Woburn, ( £l 
and Woodstock j 



Lee -{ Bridport, Taunton, Tor- >£\ 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 7 

Man. Names* Town or Circuits. Salary, Sfc. 

Jones, Cap t.... Richmond, Surrey £1 5s. to £2 

(Generally from July to Nov.) 
Kelly Portsmouth 

( Barnstaple, Bridgwater,' 
. < Bridport, Taunton, Tor- 
(rington, Wells, &c. &c. 

Lfwis I Liverpool, and Manches- ) „. « 
liEWXS (ter Theatre Royal J A1 t0 * 5 

M MRS EADY ' } Bristo1 £1 to £2 10,. 

{Bolton, Chesterfield,^ 
KwSf-dswK toiei55 - 
ford ) 

MaxfieldH. ) Portsmouth 

and Kelly ) 

( Edinburgh Theatre Royal £1 5s. to £7 
Murray, W.< and Adelphi, Edinburgh C £1 to £5 

( (late Caledonian) -Jin some cases 

(Generally makes up Two ^unlimited. 

distinct Companies). 

Penley, S Newcastle-upon-Tyne & i *>, ^^ 
Sampson ....* Windsor J* 110 *^ 

Penley, B. > Le icester 

& Anderson $ 

T Chester, and the Liver, 

Raymond ...<? Liverpool, with Mr. J 

^Hammond 

{Boston, Huntingdon,") 
Lincoln, Newark, Peter- L, 
borough, Spalding, Wis- f* L 
beach, and Whittlesea ...J 

RoB. r so,,J Gralltbami> . 



} 



8 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



Saville, J. 
Faucit . 



Man. Names. Town or Circuits. Salary ^ Sfc. 

{Durham, Scarborough,"} 
North and South Shields [ £{ £l lQ 
Stockton-on-Tees, and f 
Sunderland J 

{Aberdeen, Belfast, (Ire-") 
land), Perth, Kircaldy, ! £ £ , 1Q> 
and various towns in I 
Scotland J 

Deal, Greenwich, Mar-} 
gate, Ramsgate, St. Al-> 155. to £1 5*. 
bans, Sandwich, &c. &c. 3 
(Sometimes at the Theatres 
there, and at others with a 
Peripatetic Company, in a 
cast-iron ambulatory Thea- 
tre). 

Scott, J Northampton 15s. to,£l 15$, 

ShaldersW... Salisbury 15*. to £1 15$. 

{Canterbury, Chatham," 
Dover, Gravesend, Ton- 
bridge Wells, Maid 
stone, and Rochester 
fBarnsley, Barton, Be-"] 
verley, Bishop's Castle, 
Brigg, Burlington Quay, 
Grimsby, Horncastle, 
^ Howden, Malton, Mans- 
field, Market Deeping, 
March, Melton Mow- 
I bray, Sleaford, South- 
Lwell, &c 



Sloman, J. 



Smedley 



§ 



£lto£l 10*. 



Average 15*., 
.with some be- 
fnefit allow- 



ance at each in every Two 
Years). 



!Bury St. Edmonds, Cam-"} 
mouth J 

A ' '-(Cheltenham 



£2 10*. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 9 

Man. Names, Town or Circuits, Salary, tyc. 

! Ashbourne, Bridgnorth, "} 
Burton -on- Trent, New- f A /»i i 

castle-under-Lyne, Os- \ Av ^ £i ls ' 
westry, and Stafford j 

Woulds, J. ...Bath and Swansea £1 to £3 

From this list has been excluded the names of 
many managers, who appear to be migratory, and 
whose localities, if stated now, would be incorrect, 
perhaps, during the period of printing; we add a 
list of those omitted, with a notice of their last spe- 
culation. 

Managers or TTr7 , , m 

Proprietors* Where last heard °f- 

Armestead and ) „. T . W1 , N 

Batty > Circus, Liverpool (closed) 

t> f Lymington and City Theatre, London 

( (closed) 

Buller Abingdon 

Chamberlain ...Walsall 

Cole well Upton-upon-Severn 

Collier Cardiff and Cardigan 

Copeland Dumfries and Lancaster 

Coppin East Durham 

Dowton, T- Canterbury (2 months) 

Gibbs Jersey 

Hay Weymouth 

Holloway A Minor, at Liverpool 

Howell Tullamore 

Irish Gosport 

Jackson Market, Harborough 



10 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Managers or Prop. Where last heard of* 

M TERT. a . ndPoT "} Aber y stwlth and Merth y r T y dvil 

Parry, J. E Ramsgate 

Read, O. E Hull, Minor (closed) 

Robberds Hull, Minor (closed) 

Rogers Horsham 

Sandford Plymouth 

Sh alders Blandford 

Stanley Worthing (closed) 

Starmer Chelmsford and Brentwood 

Waldigrave Hastings 

All mention of travelling troops, such as Richard- 
son's, Scouton and Holloway's, Ryan's, Adams's, &c. 
would be here out of place, as these persons it is 
presumed do not even style themselves theatrical 
managers. 

In Scotland and Ireland, and in remote parts of 
England, some small strolling companies doubtless 
exist, which it has been found impracticable to in- 
clude here; amid them the names of Watson, Wilson, 
Hutchinson, Conroy, and Wright occur. Most of 
them form what are termed 

SHARING COMPANIES. 

Sharing Companies were once numerous in Eng- 
land, but they are, happily, becoming extinct ; it is 
of course impossible to point out where these com- 
panies may be found, as their haunts are uncertain. 
The principal sharing schemes are those of — 
Man. Names. Towns and Circuits. Shares, Sfc. 

r^xru • •* ™r • 1 C The Shares are 
„ (Who visits Warwick, I , 

Chamber- » d . h J supposed to 

LAIN lenity /....., ) a ; e e ; k a f £l P« 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



11 



Watson- 



Davenport 

Brewer 

Mayhew and 



Smith 
Perry 



and 



The average 
of their shares 
cannot be esti- 
mated. 



Man. Names. Towns and Circuits, Shares^ §c. 

{Who frequently opens at"*) 
Highgate, Hampstead, I 
and other places near the j 
metropolis J 

f These managers visit so") 
many towns, and so un- 
certain are their visita- 
tions, that it is impossible 
^ to fix their locality. They V 
- generally seek towns ' 
where the theatre has for 
a considerable time been | 
^closed J 

c k .-u • -x e f Average profits 

Laverock... j^ *^!^* ' ° f Vaca ^ by shaL about 
\ ted theatres* \ 15*. V week. 

The system of sharing companies being nearly 
exploded, it is only necessary to briefly explain the 
principles on which they are conducted. 

If there were eight actors and four actresses, be- 
sides the manager, the receipts would be divided 
into seventeen parts or shares : 

One to each actor and actress ; 

One to the manager, as an actor ; 

One to him for dresses ; 

One for scenery; 

One for properties ; 

One also as manager. 
Thus if the receipts any one night amounted to 
17 Li the manager took 5/., and the company 11. a 
piece. In addition to this, as some little outlay 
must occur, the manager advancing this called it a 
stock debt, for which whenever they had a tolerable 
house, he made a large deduction. 

* Mr. L/s name deserves a place as the oldest one in the records 
of management, his ancestors having kept together a company for 
a great number of years. 



12 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



LIST OF LONDON THEATRES. 

Name. Where situated. Season. Managers. 

fMichaelmas to"] 
Easter, or Six 1 ,- ,, . 

Adelphi Strand <> Months, com- l?J essrs ^f U 

jmencing 1st of f tnews & Yates 
LOctober J 

r Generally from 1 
Astley's Am- c Westminster } Easter to Mi-TDucrow and 

phitheatre tRoad 1 chaelmas, but (West 

( really unlimited ) 

CityThea- c Milton Street, ( S^ r ic f ^ ed ' r 
tre I Fore Street . . j ^ e f™ _ _ ^ h " 

Clarence ....King's Cross.... Ditto 



C Rnw strPPt C Generally from ) 
Covent Gar- \ f° w 5555) the middle of f A1 - , _ 

1 and _ Covent 1 SpT * flTn v pr tft , hp > Alfred Buim 



DEN 



•(G-rienM^^fXfjSe*-^ 



f BrydgesStreet, J Generally from } 

■n^TTTJv t Avt- 3 Russell Street, (the middle off A1 - , „ 
Drury Lane j aM Dmr ^ V September t0 the V Alfred Bunn 

' Lane 3 end of June .... 3 

English Ope- -> Qf . j Seven Months > 

ra House i Strand -J commencing at > J. S. Arnold 

( Easter ) 

Fitzroy } 

Theatre f Tottenham ^ .,. .. v 

(late Queen's, £ Court Road . . 5 A11 tfte * ear - • • • 

&c. &c.) 3 

fUnlimited, but"! 
( Leman Street. I generally about n . . 

Garrick ....-{Goodman's <! SixMonths,com- L^°nquest and 

| Fields 1 mencing at Mi- [ Gon iersal 

Lchaelmas J 

["Seven Months, ~) 
j commencing 

Haymarket 7 tt„, t , !,„, J sometimes at I ^ ^ ■*. ~ . 

Theatre . . \ Haymarket . .<j Easter> gene _ WD. E. Morris. 

rally about Whit I 
l^sunday J 

London } Tooley Street, > Unlicenced and 
B ridge .... 5 Borough .... 3 unlimited 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 13 

Name. Where situated. Season, Managers, 

vr„,~ r\ r„™»« £ Windmill St., } Unlicenced and 
New Queen s \ Haymarket # , \ unlimited 

f Michaelmas to } 

~ c Newcastle St. ) Easter, or Sixf^.- , Voof •. 

Olympic . . . . { Dmry Lan6j _ _ -j Month ' g> com _ V Mad. \ estns 

'mencingOct. 1st j 
Pavilion . . . . { R^^f ?* } All the Year J. Farrell 

S Well*' S } Islington Road. . All the Year G. Almar 

Saks So CCI . . . .LeieesterPlaee { ™^ d . ™* } 

1 Between Sur-1 
Strand f rey Street, and > Ditto J. Glossop 

) King's College ) 
Surrey BlackfriarsRd. . . All the Year G. B . Davidge 

V Coburg) A(late } Waterloo Road.. All the Year J. Glossop 

TtIr MIN " 1 George Street " * Unlicenced 

In addition to these theatres there are several 
buildings about London occasionally devoted to 
dramatic purposes ; amid them are 

The Minor, Catherine Street, Strand; 

Theatre, Berwick Street, Soho ; 

Pym's Theatre, "Wilson Street, Gray's Inn Lane ; 

The Shakspeare, Curtain Road; 

Wilmington House, Wilmington Square ; 

Theatre, Rawstone Street, Islington, &c. &c. 

These places are let by the night or week, for either 
public or private performances, or most usually for 
public performances (admittance being had by tickets 
sold at places in the vicinity) by amateur actors; it 
is unnecessary to add, that everything is to be heard 
at such receptacles except good English, and every- 
thing to be seen except good acting. 

On a rough calculation the United Kingdom is 



14 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

supposed to contain about 3000 performers ; that is 
to say, individuals of both sexes who really under- 
stand their business — the amount of persons connived 
at by their friends and the public as actors and act- 
resses must be about seven times that number. 

As music is becoming daily more popular in this 
country, first singers are proportionably in request. 
At Liverpool the leading vocalist has a salary of five 
pounds per week; and such is the dearth of male 
singers, that that is now considered the most pro- 
fitable and safe line, and one for which an engage- 
ment can always be obtained. 

Tragedy is, it has been justly observed, going out 
of fashion. Whether England will ever become so 
completely fashionable as to dislike Shakspeare it is 
difficult to say, but certainly he has been latterly 
played to houses, that would indicate that the im- 
mortal bard's attraction was declining ; but as im- 
provements generally originate in the metropolis, so 
also do innovations, and tragedy, though unattractive 
in London, is not yet scouted in the provinces. As 
nearly all aspirants commence as tragedians, this 
line has always numerous professors ; it is now, from 
the arrangements of modern managers, become im- 
perative that a leading man should provide his own 
wardrobe (the expenses of which I shall speak of 
hereafter). A tragedian always commands the best 
salary in the theatre, and in large establishments 
his situation is easy and profitable ; in small ones he 
is expected to blend the light comedy with the 
serious business, and thus his labour, though not his 
profit is marvellously increased. 

Genteel Comedy has been long called the most 
profitable line upon the stage — it requires a good 
modern wardrobe. In small theatres the light 
comedian must play the seconds in tragedy (Macduff, 
Richmond, &c.) — the salary is generally first-rate — 
at all events next to that of the leading man. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 15 

Low Comedy is supposed to be the best line, with 
reference to the benefits it ensures, but this is 
trusting to a very precarious chance — the salary is 
generally on a par with the light comedians. 

First Old Men obtain somewhat similar terms. 

Walking Gentlemen (Charles Stanley, Henry 
Mor eland, Harry Thunder, &c.) is a line that also 
requires an extensive wardrobe ; this business is 
usually assigned to persons learning the rudiments 
of the profession — the salary is generally low ; in 
Dublin even, not exceeding two guineas per week, 
and in many respectable companies not more than 
one. 

The observations already made, apply to the other 
sex equally with regard to the First Tragedy — Fine 
Ladies — Singing Chambermaids — Old Women — and 
Walking Ladies. 

First Singing Ladies are much more numerous 
than male vocalists, a circumstance which the system 
of modern education accounts for — and, perhaps, for 
a Lady the Old Women may be considered the most 
profitable and safe line. Any young lady embracing 
this line, and possessed of even a moderate share of 
talent, could seldom lack a provincial engagement, 
and would stand an excellent chance of metropolitan 
distinction. 

Having premised thus much, it is now necessary 
to place before my readers the regulations of pro- 
vincial establishments. 

The following is an exact copy from the rules, 
fines, &c. of one of the best of our country theatres — 
they are very similar to those of the London estab- 
lishments. 



16 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

GENERAL REGULATIONS OF THE PRIN- 
CIPAL PROVINCIAL THEATRES. 

First. — All engagements are terminable by four 
weeks' notice from either party. 

Second. — Salaries are not paid when theatrical 
performances are suspended on account of any public 
calamity. 

Third. — Performers exercising their talents for 
the advantage of any other establishment, where 
money is taken for admission (by subscription or 
otherwise), without permission of the manager, 
incur a penalty of one week's salary; and a repe- 
tition of the offence will be held a forfeiture of their 
engagement. 

Fourth. — Every performer is expected to go on 
the stage and assist in all the processions and cho- 
russes, where it has been customary in London for 
principals to be engaged, as in Macbeth, Pizarro, 
Juliet's dirge, Alexander's entry, &c. — non-compli- 
ance with this regulation subjects the party to a fine 
of ten shillings. 

Fifth. — Every performer is required to go on the 
stage, if in the theatre, or within call, whenever it is 
deemed expedient to sing the national airs, except 
such airs are introduced in the dramatic performance, 
or forfeit ten shillings. 

Sixth. — Any performer refusing to x act a part, cast 
by the manager, incurs the forfeiture of one guinea. 

Seventh. — Performers are not to go into the front 
of the house during the performance of a piece in 
which they act. 

Eighth. — Dresses appointed to be worn are not to 
be changed without the consent of the manager. 

Ninth. — Saturday is considered the first day of the 
week, as in the London theatres. 

Tenth. — On benefit nights, performers are expected 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 17 

not to go into the front of the house without the per- 
mission of the person whose benefit it is. 

RULES OF REHEARSAL. 

First. — Notice of pieces to be rehearsed to be 
posted in the green-room, and the time of beginning, 
before the end of the play on the previous night of 
performance; and it is the call-boy's duty to give 
notice to every performer who does not perform that 
evening. 

Second. — Ten minutes' grace allowed for the com- 
mencement of the first piece rehearsed, but not for 
any subsequent one. 

Third. — Every performer absent from rehearsal 
(without having previously assigned a sufficient 
cause), to forfeit for the first scene one shilling, and 
for every subsequent one sixpence ; but not more than 
five shillings for a whole play, and half a crown for 
a farce. 

Fourth. — For standing on, or walking across the 
stage, when not engaged in the scene, sixpence. 

Fifth. — For not being reasonably perfect at the 
last rehearsal (sufficient time having been given for 
study), five shillings. 

Sixth. — Music-room rehearsals subject to the same 
regulations in regard to time as those on the stage. 
The duets, glees, chorusses, &c. to be played before 
the songs, and each absentee to forfeit sixpence for 
every concerted piece, but not for songs. 

Seventh. — Apologies for non-attendance at re- 
hearsals of every description must be delivered, 
before the party has incurred the penalty. 

RULES DURING PERFORMANCE. 

Every 'performer liable to the following forfeits. 

First. — For not being ready to begin at the time 
announced in the bills, five shillings. 

c2 



18 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Second. — For keeping the stage waiting after 
having been called, two shillings and sixpence. 

Third. — For going on or off the stage in any 
other place than that settled at rehearsals, one 
shilling. 

Fourth. — For opening the stage door when not 
required in the business two shillings and sixpence. 

Fifth. — For standing at the wings in sight of the 
audience, or sitting at the wings, two shillings and 
sixpence. 

Sixth. — For being obviously intoxicated when 
engaged in the performance, one guinea. 

Seventh. — For omitting, or introducing a scene or 
song without the consent of the manager, five shil- 
lings. 

Eighth. — For not attending to perform the part 
allotted, one guinea. 

*** None but performers or persons engaged in the 
business, permitted to be behind the scenes, either at 
rehearsal, or during the performance, on any pretence 
whatever. 

BENEFIT REGULATIONS. 

First. — Previous to the benefits a notice will be 
placed in the green-room, for three days, for the 
signature of those performers who intend taking 
benefits — and those who do not sign within the time 
will be considered as having declined one. 

Second. — The charges of each night to be as 
follows,* security for which several sums must be 
given before any advertisement can appear: — the 
manager allows the customary stock printing, pro- 
perty bill, and not more than twenty supernu- 
meraries. The manager has a discretionary power 

* Thes3 sums of course differ according to the size of the theatre, 
&c. At Liverpool, the charge is sixty guineas for the house. At 
Bath, the same, except in spring, then only fifty. At Hull, you share 
with the manager after £20 ; i. e. he takes the first £20 and gives you 
half of the remaining receipts. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 19 

of restraining the performances within a convenient 
length. 

Third, — Performers are not permitted to curtail 
pieces ; but any piece that has been compressed in 
either of the patent theatres in London, may be 
acted from the same copy at Birmingham. 

Fourth. — No alteration in the price of admission 
at benefits, on pain of forfeiture of the benefit and 
engagement. 

Fifth. — No comic pantomime allowed but to the 
harlequin, columbine, and clown, who shall throw 
for precedence, and only take such pantomimes as 
have been acted in the stock business during the 
season. 

Sixth. — No play or farce to be acted for a benefit, 
unless appropriate scenery, dresses, &c. are already 
in the stock, or furnished by the performer. 

Seventh. — Performers, and others, taking tickets, 
to take them on such nights as the manager shall 
fix for that purpose, and give security if required. 

Eighth. — Any bill or advertisement published with- 
out having been signed by the manager, or added to, 
after such signature, subjects the party to a forfeiture 
of the benefit. 



The indispensable Requisites as regard a Theatrical 
Wardrobe for an outset in the prof ession. 

The number of actors that of late years have been 
in the habit of furnishing their own wardrobe, has 
given the, managers a hint which they have pretty 
generally taken. Every man likes to appear to ad- 
vantage, and many therefore find their own dresses, 
if they do not approve of the old suits in the stock ; 
but as our best actors have generally been the 
poorest men, it is necessary for me to state the things 
it is absolutely expected that an actor is to find him- 
self in. 



20 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

List of Properties. 

Feathers, hats, ruffs, collars, boots, shoes, swords, 
belts, ornaments of all descriptions, tight white pan- 
taloons, fleshings, sandals, wigs, stockings, buckles, 
and breeches. 

Every one of these articles an actor in a small com- 
pany should possess, for the various characters he 
will have to assume will bring them in requisition, 
and they are never found by the management. 

I shall now run through the principal lines of act- 
ing, and separately enumerate the things most likely 
to be required for each. 

TRAGEDY. 

A first tragedian, as theatres are now stocked, 
should possess : — 

Complete dresses for Hamlet, Richard, Macbeth, 
and Rolla; and with them, and the stock, he may 
manage to dress a variety of characters. 

He should have a wig for Octavian; ditto for 
Othello ; ditto for Richard ; and ditto for Lear ; 
ringlets, &c. 

An old English sword,* a Roman sword; a dress 
and regulation sword. 

Stage hats of several descriptions, which I cannot 
explain upon paper ; these are most essential, as he 
will find no hats of any sort in country wardrobes ; 
an opera and military hat are both indispensable. 

Tight pantaloons, black and white, for comedies, 
(Lovemore, &c), and red, blue, and green, will be 
found highly useful. 

Russet boots and shoes ; gauntlets, handsome and 
plain. 

Lace collars and ruffs. 

Sword belts, both of leather and chains. 

Feathers, white and black, and heron's feathers 
for Rob Roy, &e. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 21 

The ornaments are innumerable. A star, hat 
ornaments, and a blue garter, wanted in all our his- 
torical plays, are amongst those of primary con- 
sideration. 

I have seen young gentlemen come down to lead 
with one wig and one sword. A carpenter might as 
well undertake to do his work in a building with only 
a saw and a gimlet. 

LIGHT COMEDY. 

Every thing that constitutes a fashionable modern 
wardrobe will be absolutely necessary. 

Dress coats with steel buttons, trimmed as the 
court dresses are worn ; an old coat with good 
buttons looks as well as a new one, as almost all 
theatrical things depend upon the ornaments upon 
them. 

A military infantry uniform;* sword ditto. 

Ditto cavalry. 

A dress sword; sword loop, or white silk belt. 

An opera hat, buckles, and latchets. 

A naval coat is also useful, though, even in the 
metropolis, T have seen a common blue coat with 
epaulettes worn. 

Epaulettes, both of silver and gold, the performer 
will do well to provide, for stock epaulettes are never 
peculiar for then* brilliancy. 

Wigs are less essential here, as most comedians 
wear their own hair, but for such parts as Rochester, 
they will be found indispensable. 

OLD MEN. 

The number of wigs required in this line is con- 
siderable; let the reader remember what he has 

* There is scarcely any stock so destitute as to be without a 
military coat ; hut my readers need not be informed that a dress, 
calculated to fit every body, never does actually fit any body, and 
that which every one may wear, no one can bear to be seen in. 



22 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

seen for Simpson, Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Anthony 
Absolute, Old Dowlas, Adam Winterton, &c, and he 
will form a more correct notion of what may be 
required than it is possible to convey to him by 
writing. 

Square-toed shoes; buckles for the knees and 
shoes of various descriptions, of paste, gold, and 
silver; steel sword, and shape hats, feathers, &c, for 
such characters as Lopez, " Wonder," Don Lewis, 
" Love Makes a Man," and for which it will be 
necessary to provide many of the things placed 
under the head of tragedy ; a three-cornered hat. 

It fortunately occurs that almost all wardrobes are 
well stocked with (English) old men's dresses, there- 
fore performers in this line may well dispense with 
any entire dress. 

Stockings, ruffs, waistbands, and lace frills. 

Canes. 

COUNTRY BOYS. 

It is nearly as essential to possess a wardrobe for 
this line as for tragedy, especially if the performer's 
figure be petite ; Knight received a certain sum in 
addition to his salary, as a consideration for finding 
his own dresses. The things most material are — 
leathern unmentionables, and white flannel ditto ; 
shoes called high-lows, with thongs, and square-toed 
shoes ; flowered waistcoats, which are generally 
made of bed- furniture, or worked in worsted upon 
calico; coloured neckerchiefs; of coats, to play the 
line, I should recommend an actor's providing — a 
sky blue one, a white flannel one, and one of vel- 
veteen; the latter was a favourite garment with poor 
Emery, and such coats are much worn to the present 
day in Yorkshire. 

Round hats, white and black. 

"Wigs — red, in short curl ; ditto long hair ; flaxen, 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 23 

in curl; and ditto straight. Knight had twenty dif- 
ferent red wigs that he constantly wore. 

Buckles of plain steel. 

Sticks — nothing can be more characteristic than a 
good stick. Knight's twig in Jerry Blossom, and 
Emery's staff in Ashfield, will not be forgotten. 

Stockings, blue, red, and striped, 

LOW COMEDY. 

The term low comedy is extremely comprehensive, 
and embraces, in a country company, many, indeed 
most of the parts assumed in the metropolis by Lis- 
ton and Harley, many of Munden's, and frequently 
Emery's also. The number of wigs requisite it is 
almost impossible to say, but he will assuredly 
require — 

A Caleb Quotem's wig; a Mingle's wig; a bowl 
wig, i. e. round, for Crack, &c; a red wig; a dress 
one for Lissardo, &c; old men's wigs; a skull cap, 
i. e, a complete head covering, made of calico, dyed 
the colour of the scalp; a bald front, with black hair 
at back, for Copp, Michael, Bruhl, &c. ; a long black 
haired wig for Dominie Sampson. 

Ruffs, collars, frills, russet boots and shoes, and 
pantaloons, for such parts as Jaques, " Honeymoon," 
Lissardo, &c. 

It will be remembered that, in the most respect- 
able provincial theatres, the low comedian is ex- 
pected to go on for the Lord Mayor, in " Richard the 
Third," and other characters of minor importance in 
tragedy. 

A countryman's coat and inexpressibles, of leather 
and cloth of divers hues. 

Stockings of different colours in silk and worsted, 
and they should be long enough to wear w T ith trunks 
in shape pieces ; * Scotch stockings. 

* That is, to come half- way up the thigh. 



24 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

One or two complete shape dresses for comic ser- 
vants will be found absolutely necessary. 

Hats — shape — of velvet or serge, and beaver ones, 
round, square, white and black. 

A servant's hatband and cockade ; for the informa- 
tion of the unlearned, it may be as well to state that 
a cockade marks the servant of a military gentleman 
or nobleman. 

Top boots, and false military black tops, for Rattan, 
Sturgeon, &c. 

Feathers of various descriptions. 

Sword belts, and one sword at least. 

WALKING GENTLEMEN 

Will require most of the things (perhaps all) enume- 
rated under the head of light comedy. 

SECONDS IN TRAGEDY; OR, JUVENILE TRAGEDY, 

( which frequently goes with the light comedy), 

Will require the things named under the head 
tragedy, wdth the exception of the complete dresses. 
A person professing juvenile tragedy should have a 
dress for Norval, which will also serve for Macduff, 
and other parts; a black bugled one for Romeo's 
second dress, and which will also do for Laertes in 
the last act : and a plain shape dress, and plain tunic, 
for Wilford, &c. 

SECOND OLD MEN 

May refer to the title Old Men for all they require. 

ECCENTRICS, &C. 

(i. e. Frenchmen, Ollapods, and those parts that cannot be reduced 
to any specific line), 

Must refer to all the different heads, for the articles 
they want are innumerable. Dick Cypher goes with 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 25 

the eccentrics, and the performer is expected to find 
every thing, even to the box coat. 

GENERAL UTILITY. 

This is what young performers are generally en- 
gaged for, though to fulfil the duties of general 
utility requires an old actor; it is, in fact, to play the 
inferior parts in every line — to have the most to do — 
the least notice of doing it — and receive the lowest 
salary ; it is (next to the situation of prompter) the 
Pandemonium of the profession. 

For general utility, a man should have almost all 
the things enumerated under all the different heads, 
excepting the complete dresses in every one. 

I know it will be said that a performer can em- 
bark in the profession without the properties I have 
mentioned. I can myself adduce instances. A gen- 
tleman, now a member of Drury Lane Theatre, 
started in Brunton's company with a pair of stage 
boots only, and they were a partnership concern 
between himself and another ; but it is unnecessary 
to mention the misery and privation that individual 
suffered, or to name the number of parts that were 
taken from him, not because he could not play, but 
because he could not dress them. 



LADIES' WARDROBE. 

Female aspirants for the pleasures of the scenic 
art are perhaps seldom aware that our provincial 
theatres have no wardrobe at all for the ladies, and 
that every thing they wear must be provided by 
themselves. 

TRAGEDY. 

Black velvet dress with long and short sleeves. 
White satin dress with long and short sleeves. 

D 



26 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Scarlet robe ; sandals. 
Point lace drapery; black and white points. 
Gold spangled trimming. 
Silver spangled trimming. 
Plain and spangled drapery. 
Dagger ; coronet ; stomacher. 
Ornamented cestus for the waist. 
Beads of all descriptions. 

Ornaments of every kind for ear-rings, bracelets, 
and armlets. 

COMEDY. 

Pink, blue, and white satin dresses. 
Leno dresses with spangled trimming. 
Leno dresses with satin trimming. 
Feathers; fan; reticule. 
Fashionable hat. 
Shoes, silk stockings, and gloves. 
Black and white lace veils. 
Flowers; beads; scarf. 
Points for Spanish dresses. 

MELO-DRAME. 

Scarlet stuff dress, with blue ribbons, pocket made 
in dress ; French cap ; white muslin apron trimmed. 
Buff dress with blue or green ribbons. 
Black velvet body made with stomacher. 
Black ribbon and cross. 
Gipsy hat; black mits; white mits. 
Black shoes with buckles or clasps. 
French head dress. 

Black velvet body with long and short sleeves. 
Boy's dress,, 

Quaker's dress. 

Dove coloured silk open dress ; white cuffs ; white 
muslin neckerchief trimmed with white satin rib- 
bon; white satin petticoat; white muslin apron 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 27 

trimmed with white satin ribbon; quaked s cap; 
white satin ribbon formed as a stomacher. 

CHAMBERMAIDS. 

Coloured cotton and muslin dresses: trimmed 
apron ; caps and flowers. 

GENERAL BUSINESS AND ECCENTRICS. 

Silk fleshings. 

Frock coat and trousers ; white waistcoat. 

Gentleman's shirt ; false wristbands. 

Black stock for neck % 

"Wellington boots. 

These are essential for such characters as the 
"Young Widow," Harriette, in "Is he Jealous?'' 
the " Irish Widow," and numerous other parts in the 
drama. 

Tunic; white silk pantaloons; russet boots. 

Worked collar or frill for neck. 

Hat and feathers; for the "Blind Boy," Myrtillo, 
in the "Broken Sword," the "Wandering Boys," &c. 

A complete Indian dress, with head-dress formed 
of feathers ; bracelets and beads of all descriptions ; 
— for Umba, in "Perouse," and Yarico, in "Incle 
and Yarico." 

A white satin or coloured fly; white satin loose 
Turkish trousers; slippers turned up at the toes; 
vest and turban with birds of Paradise plume ; — for 
Artaxerxes, Aladdin, Zorayda,in the "Mountaineers," 
and numerous other parts. 

Peasant's dress, Swiss, French, Spanish, Old 
English, &c. for Savoyards of all nations. 

Straw hat; check shirt; black neckerchief. 

White waistcoat with blue binding. 

A blue jacket; white or blue trousers. 

Striped stockings, shoes, and buckles. 

A short cane ; — for Little Pickle. 

Old woman's head-dress. 



28 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

High heeled shoes. 

A large and old-fashioned fan. 

Mittens — long, short, plain, and ornamented with 
lace; muslin neckerchief for neck, 

Old-fashioned ear-rings, and other ornaments. 

Hooped petticoat ; an open wrapper. 

Old-fashioned bedgown and nightcap. 

Various coloured things of the descriptions named 
will be requisite ; — for Old Women. 



THE LINE OP CONDUCT TO BE OBSERVED 
ON FIRST ENTERING A THEATRE. 

The first person you should inquire for is the promp- 
ter, to whom you make yourself known, and give 
your address; the prompter will introduce you to the 
stage-manager, who conducts you to the green-room, 
and introduces you to the rest of the company. The 
part assigned you, and a notice as to the rehearsal, 
will be sent you according to the address given, or 
delivered to you at the theatre by the call-boy, or 
prompter's assistant. As you read your character 
you will ascertain what properties are wanted in the 
different scenes you have to act, such as a purse, 
book, keys, bottle, &c. &c; these you will make 
memorandums of, and on the night of performance 
hand the list to, or ask for them of, the property- 
man,* who will provide what you want, which, as 
you conclude each scene, you return to him. It is 
essential that these things should be returned in- 
stanter, as they may be wanted in the next scene ; 
but if you have to deliver them to any party on the 
stage, the onus of returning them rests on him or her. 
After the rehearsal, your next care is to find the 

* In a respectably conducted theatre the performer is saved this 
trouble, as at the last rehearsal and at night the call-boy brings him 
the properties required when he makes each call. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 29 

wardrobe-keeper, and ask to look at your dress; try 
it on, and show the dresser what alterations (if any) 
are necessary. It is the rule of every well-regulated 
theatre that you should wear no dress that has not 
been approved of by the manager; but in light 
comedy, where you provide every thing, it is left to 
your own discretion. In such pieces it will be wise 
to consult your brother performers as to what cos- 
tume they intend assuming; from a neglect of this 
precaution, I have seen, at one of our first provincial 
theatres, Sir Benjamin Backbite, and Charles and 
Joseph Surface, habited exactly alike, a thing dis- 
pleasing to the eye of the auditor, and destructive of 
scenic effect. 

In the dressing-room, to which the prompter's boy 
w T ill conduct you, you will find your name written at 
that part of it assigned for you to dress in; there 
the things provided by the theatre for you to wear 
will be sent by the wardrobe-keeper. It is no part 
of the duty of the dresser of a provincial theatre to 
clean the shoes or boots which you wear upon 
the stage ; but this is usually done by him, for which 
he expects some little remuneration. Some few 
years since it was understood that the things worn 
in the play should be washed for you by the esta- 
blishment, but this custom is growing into disuse in 
the provinces — neither is it now general for a hair- 
dresser to attend at the manager's expense; the per- 
former will therefore be prepared to attend to him- 
self in this particular ; and it may be well to remark, 
that one of our greatest actors has said — "Wear 
your own locks whenever it is not absolutely im- 
proper — the best wig is not so good as the worst 
head of hair." 

Wigging is a science in itself; Suett had a com- 
plete gallery of wigs. I shall consider this subject 
in another portion of my work, and shall merely re- 
mark here, that the use of wigs must be left to the 

d2 



=^8« 



30 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

judgment and observation of the actor. Custom has 
established red wigs for countrymen, and black ones 
for Roman and all tragic characters, though it would 
be difficult to assign a reason for either practice. The 
English rustic is not generally seen with carroty locks, 
though they are strongly indicative of the Scotch 
and Welsh, and the Romans were not partial to 
raven ringlets ; how far it may be wise to depart from 
these professional prejudices or vices it is not for me 
to determine. Auditors will fancy that Alexander 
was of gigantic stature, though historical records will 
vouch for his slender form and crooked neck; and a 
tall Richard, or a short Coriolanus, offend our pre- 
possession of these characters. 

For leaving any portion of your dress, or com- 
pleting the adjustment of it, in the green-room, 
there are established fines, but the necessities of the 
stage occasion these rules to be frequently departed 
from. A short change, such as that made by Risk, 
in " Love Laughs at Locksmiths," those of Buskin, 
in " Killing no Murder," Variella, " Weathercock," 
or " The Actress of All Work," are made either 
in what is technically called "a building" behind 
the scenes or in a room close at hand; in some cases 
even in the green-room itself. 

When dressed the performer should proceed in- 
stantly to the green-room, as no notice but of the 
music having been rung-in, is given in the dressing- 
room; the call-boy enters the green-room to call 
each actor and actress as they are wanted, in each 
scene, who should then refer to their parts, to ascer- 
tain whether the scene is a hall, chamber, or garden, 
and not present the impropriety so often seen, even 
in London, of persons traversing the open air with- 
out hats, bonnets, shawls, or gloves, or the vulgarity 
of entering drawing-rooms with their heads covered ; 
indeed, it is highly improper to enter in a room-scene 
with a hat at all. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 31 

ON MAKING UP THE FIGURE. 

The attempts of those to whom nature has denied 
the graces of person, to supply her deficiencies, have 
been treated undeservedly with satirical rigour; 
those who are not of happy person, say some, should 
not embrace the profession. Alas! we none of us 
see ourselves. It is the singular exclamation of a 
great actor of this day that, if he could go in front 
and see himself act, he should profit more in one 
hour of self-observation, than he could from the best 
and most candid of critics in a year. Where nature 
has granted symmetry, there are often inherent de- 
fects of manner ; and if it be praiseworthy to endea- 
vour to overcome them, it must surely also be so to 
obviate, if possible, our natural disqualifications. 
One of the greatest tragedians of the day always 
plays in a dress completely padded from the shoulder 
to the heel, and made with the most scrupulous ac- 
curacy, to fill up the voids (he being extremely thin) 
where nature is found deficient. If a performer dis- 
pleases the eye of his auditor he will find it very hard 
to gain upon him at all, and it is surely very allow- 
able to endeavour, by any means, to obtain this pre- 
possession. Mr. Sheldrake has long been celebrated 
as the maker of false calves, full shoulders, &c; 
but a performer, possessing an excellent figure 
may require the aid of art for the performance of 
certain characters. If it fell to the lot of Mr. R. Jones 
(of Co vent Garden) to play the Sir Anthony Absolute, 
&c, could he possibly produce any effect unless he 
stuffed? 

I have known many actors who look very well on 
the stage, except when compelled to exhibit their 
legs either in silk stockings or pantaloons. Now, 
where it happens that the leg is what is termed 
bandy or buck-shinned, no method can be devised for 
totally concealing the defect, although I have heard 



32 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

that there are means of decreasing even this eyesore; 
but it requires an ingenuity beyond any that has ever 
fallen under my observation. When the leg is straight 
and thin, the most approved method is to cut the feet 
and tops of as many pair of old silk stockings as may 
produce the desired increase of size, carefully leaving 
a little less on each succeeding stocking, both at the 
top and bottom; and having thus made the leg per- 
fectly shapely, lastly pull on the stocking that is to 
face the audience, unmindful of the shabby scoun- 
drels that it covers. This was the custom, now pad- 
dings regularly ivoven to order are to be had of Mr. 
Tresher. 



ON MAKING UP THE FACE FOR THE STAGE. 

How essential a part of a performer's duty this is ; 
an hundred examples might be brought to attest; to 
ladies it is of the utmost importance. More than one 
instance could be cited of great metropolitan fa- 
vourites, who owe all their attractions to the manner 
of decking their persons. There can be little doubt 
that all paint is injurious to the skin, and the object 
should be therefore to neutralize its pernicious qua- 
lities as much as possible. Chinese vermillion boiled 
in milk, and then suffered to dry, and afterwards 
mixed with about half the quantity of carmine, is de- 
cidedly the best colour an actor can use ; it is said to 
be too powerful for a female face, but this I am 
inclined to consider an error, especially as the late 
introduction of gas into our theatres has rendered a 
more powerful colouring than that formerly used 
decidedly necessary. Rouge is an ineffective colour, 
and seldom lies well on the face ; previous to painting 
it is best to pass a napkin, with a little pomatum 
upon it, over the part intended to receive the colour,* 

* The late Mr. Knight used to cover his cheek with a thin coat oi 
pomatum, and paint upon it, without rubbing the face dry, but this, 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 33 

then touch the cheek with a little hair-powder, which 
will set the colour, and then lay on the vermillion 
and carmine. A rabbit's foot is better than any thing 
else for distributing the paint equally. Performers 
should bear in mind that it is better to have too little 
than too much colour ; but they would also do well 
to remember that, when heated, colour will sink, and 
it may be well, in the course of a long part, to re- 
touch the countenance. 

Ladies have generally sufficient knowledge of the 
arts of decking the human face divine, therefore the 
few observations I have yet to offer on this subject 
will be confined to the other sex. 

It is a common, though slovenly, habit to make 
mustachios and whiskers by means of a burnt cork — 
an idle filthy mode — involving too the danger of trans- 
ferring your lip ornaments to the cheek of a lady, 
if it be necessary in the scene to salute her. A camel' s 
hair pencil and Indian ink will, with very little 
trouble, give a more correct imitation of nature; and 
if the brush be wetted in gum water, there can be 
little danger of the ink running, either by the effect 
of heat or otherwise. 

What is termed lining the face, is the marking it, 
so as to represent the wrinkles of age ; this art, for 
it is one, is little understood upon the English stage — 
our Parisian neighbours are adepts. It is impossible 
to give instructions for it upon paper ; the best instru- 
ment to perform it with, is a piece of round wire, like 
a black hair pin; this, held in the smoke of a candle, 
communicates a finer and more distinct line than can 
be made by dipping it in Indian ink. 

which he effected cleverly, may be found difficult to perform, where 
it is necessary to have a powerful colour as in country boys, clowns, 
&c, it is decidedly the proper method, 



34 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

HOW TO COLOUR THE FACE FOR THE RE- 
PRESENTATION OF MOORS, NEGROES, &c. 

Othello used not in former days to sport a coloured 
countenance, but wore the same sables as Mungo, in 
the "Padlock;" but this, as being destructive of the 
effect of the face, and preventing the possibility of 
the expression being observable, has become an ob- 
solete custom. A tawny tinge is now the colour used 
for the gallant Moor, for Bajazet, and Zanga ; Spanish 
brown is the best preparation for the purpose. Pre- 
vious to using it, the whole of the face should be 
rubbed with pomatum, or the colour will not adhere. 
Some persons mix the colouring with carmine, and, 
wetting it, apply it to the face, but I never saw this 
plan answer. Sadi, Bulcazin, Muley, Rolla, &c. 
should be coloured with Spanish brown, though it is 
very common, especially for comic performers, to use 
only an extraordinary quantity of vermillion or car- 
mine spread over the whole of the face. 

To produce the black necessary for the negro face 
of Hassan, Wouski, Mungo, or Sambo, the performer 
should cover the face and neck with a thin coat 
of pomatum, or what is better, though more disagree- 
able, of lard; then burn a cork to powder, and apply 
it with a hare's foot, or a cloth, the hands wet with 
beer which will fix the colouring matter. Wearing 
black gloves is unnatural, for the colour is too intense 
to represent the skin, and negroes invariably cover 
themselves with light clothing. Arms of black silk, 
often worn in Hassan, have a very bad effect : arm- 
ings dyed with a strong infusion of Spanish annatto 
look much more natural, for a negro's arms it will 
be observed are generally lighter than his counte- 
nance. A strong colouring of carmine should be laid 
upon the face after the black, as otherwise the ex- 
pression of countenance and eye will be destroyed. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 35 

OF REMOVING COLOUR. 

All persons have witnessed the great effect pro- 
duced by suddenly removing the colour in any scene 
of fright or surprise; to do this cleverly requires 
some expertness. In the scene in the " Iron Chest," 
where Wilford kneek to inspect the chest, it is easily 
effected by means of a greased napkin, whilst his 
face is averted from the audience. In Richard, a 
celebrated tragedian of the present day always re- 
moves his colour in the dreaming scene, and applies 
pomatum to his countenance, and then drops water 
upon his forehead ; and this he effects while tossing 
and tumbling in the assumed throes of mental agony, 
on rushing to the front, at — 

" Give me another horse — bind up my vounds ;" 

his countenance is an exemplification of the text — 

" Cold drops of sweat hang on my trembling limbs." 

In Carlos' (Isabella) last scene, where, at the sudden 
discovery of his guilt, he might naturally be sup- 
posed to turn pale, I have seen performers try 
strange expedients; some, having removed the 
colour previous to coming on, have played the scene, 
till the point of discovery, with their backs to the 
audience, an offensive mode which has also the dis- 
advantage of preparing the auditors for the trick. 
The thing can be generally sufficiently effected by 
oiling the inside of your gloves, and burying your 
face in your hands at the moment of accusation; 
colour adheres to oil immediately, and, without the 
appearance of error, the paint will be removed; it 
would be tedious to enumerate the many tricks of 
this nature that may be practised. Legitimate act- 
ing wants little of this aid, and nothing but expe- 
rience can point out when any ruse de theatre can be 
properly attempted. For such situations as those of 
Colonel Regolio, " Broken Sword," at the table, 



36 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

with the lights burning before him, it is usual to 
whiten the face, and blacken beneath the eyes, 
which gives them a hollow and sunken appearance. 
In Macbeth' s return with the daggers, the same ex- 
pedient is resorted to. In Bertram and De Mont- 
ford the torches of the monks are sometimes im- 
pregnated with a chemical preparation, which throws 
a ghastly hue upon the hero's countenance when it 
is held before them, a hue resembling that commu- 
nicated to the face by the mixture displayed in the 
windows of our druggists. My readers will call to 
mind the excellent " making up" of Mr. T. P. Cooke, 
in the Monster, " Frankenstein," and confess that 
attention to this part of the profession may be neces- 
sary, as in that case, the appearance may be the 
main feature of a part. 



TREADING THE STAGE. 

Every actor should allow himself some paces to 
settle his step previous to appearing in sight of the 
audience; it is necessary also to pay attention in 
making an exit, for nothing is more offensive to the 
eye of an auditor than to see an actor forego the 
character he is assuming the moment he approaches 
the wing. It frequently happens in the course of a 
scene that one character has to invite another to an 
inner apartment, as in the following lines — 

" But this place is too public — retire with me, Robert — the seclu- 
sion of the closet is best fitted for such a disclosure." 

Now, if the actors stalk off, the scene appears ridi- 
culous and unnatural, but if they make use of what is 
termed bye-play, and preserve the appearance of 
conversation by their gestures, the effect is kept up, 
as it should be, to the last moment ; again, in the 
last acts of our comedies, as the eclair cissement of 
the various incidents is effected, and the lovers are 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 37 

reconciled, it is necessary for the different characters 
to leave the front of the stage to others, for the like 
purpose, previous to forming the picture at the close 
of the piece. Here it is that bye-play is indispen- 
sable, 

It is peculiarly difficult to explain on paper the 
business of an actor and actress ; when on the 
stage, and not engaged prominently in the scene, 
there is always something to do, although there may 
be nothing to say — for instance, you lead a lady aside, 
and then the thousand little elegancies may be acted, 
that are duly appreciated, and mark the mastery of 
the art ; or in acting a servant, a superior character 
may drop a glove, handkerchief, &c. — here is an 
opportunity for supporting the character, by doing 
that which a servant in such a situation would natu- 
rally do. 

The reader may remember a scene between Sir 
Edward Mortimer and Wilford, in Gorman's play of 
" The Iron Chest" Sir Edward has long and im- 
passioned speeches to deliver, and Wilford has to 
stand with little or nothing to say; this scene is 
peculiarly fatiguing to the man who really acts Wil- 
ford — he has so much to express, and so frequently 
to change his gestures in the course of it. To see 
and know that this is the case, persons should place 
themselves in the pit of a theatre, as near the or- 
chestra as possible, during the performances of some 
good actors; by this means the term " dressing the 
stage" will also be understood. All theatrical people 
that know their business (no matter how many may 
be engaged in the scene) form a picture ; to under- 
stand the consequence of attending to dressing the 
stage, people should pay a visit to a private theatre, 
where, from the straggling manner in which the per- 
formers stand, some stuck close together, others at 
the extreme corner of the stage from each other, &e. 

E 



38 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

&c. as if uncertain of their ultimate place of desti- 
nation, the whole effect is marred. The late Mr. 
Knight used to say, that you learnt quite as much 
by seeing bad acting as good, for you observed on I 
the one hand what was done, on the other what was ' 
left undone. No man was more indefatigable at re- 
hearsals than poor Knight. At a country theatre 
he thought nothing of continuing rehearsing from 
ten till four; he was termed "the ghost of Drury" 
from his incessant attendance. Amateurs generally 
feel indignant at the fatigue, and what they consider 
the unnecessary trouble of rehearsing ; all old actors 
are fond of rehearsing, because they, from experience, 
know of what consequence it is. Knight never had 
his equal for neatness of execution (and this was 
effected by measuring every inch of the stage), and 
making what is termed situations, he was always 
perfect at the first rehearsal of a new piece, there- 
fore, by the time it was produced, he was quite mel- 
lowed in his part, and could play with it. There 
is an actor, at present in London, who declares he 
will not again go on in a part until he has " chewed 
the cud upon it;" i. e.,has been in possession of the 
part for some days, and has thought thoroughly on 
the different bearings of it ; so that he appears on 
the stage perfectly master of the character, as he has, 
from strict and scrutinizing observation, conceived it. 
A number of actors, and with sorrow do I assert the 
fact, never trouble themselves to move from the 
beaten track ; the only questi on that arises with them 

being, what does Mr. S do in the part? how does 

he play it? where does he enter, and where exit? 
Fortune may, and has favoured many of these sort of 
men, and put them in first-rate London situations ; 
but an actor, in the true sense of the word, reads the 
play with attention, takes all the characters, dissects 
them until he discovers what the author means, and 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 39 

does what Kean directed Sherwin to do, however he 
may have been led to admire a reigning favourite — 
" Forgets the god, and is himself alone." 



THE BEST MODE OF STUDYING, 

With instances of acton who possessed wonderful memories. 

To study, requires a determination to give your 
whole and undivided attention to the part, to read 
slowly, and with marked emphasis, not through the 
whole part, but scene by scene, until you are perfect. 
One hour's patient perseverance is worth four, if 
you read with indecision and distaste. The simple 
circumstance that every school-boy can learn his 
task, is a sufficient stimulant to an actor, of whatever 
grade in the profession, at least to know the words, 
however unhappy he may be in delivering them. 
Mr. Beverley, who has had under his management, 
at the West London Theatre, and elsewhere, more 
than half the actors at present engaged at our royal 
theatres, says, when an actor in his company is im- 
perfect, " Learn the words, sir, then talk about act- 
ing — you can't act if you are fishing for the words." 
Barnard owed his success entirely to his quick study ; 
for Mrs. Gibbs once, on a starring expedition, was 
announced for Lady Teazle, but on the morning of 
rehearsal, the performer who should have played 
Joseph Surface was absent — Barnard undertook it, 
and played it perfect. Mrs. Gibbs was so delighted 
with his celerity, that she strongly recommended him 
to Colman, and in the following season he appeared 
at the Haymarket. 

One of our most perfect actors is Jones; it is 
needless to add, he is also one of our best, 

In provincial theatres instances of memory occur 
nightly, that are little short of marvellous. Mr. 
Munroe, now of the Haymarket Theatre, has, on 
several occasions, studied twelve to fourteen lengths 



40 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

from rehearsal till night; and I remember his play- 
ing Colonel Hardy quite perfect, having received 
notice of it at four o'clock, and going to the theatre 
at half-past six — the part is at least five hundred 
lines. I have known others to study a hundred lines 
per hour for five or six hours in succession, but these 
are extraordinary instances. 

Most actors find that writing out a part greatly 
facilitates their acquisition of it. Slow writers im- 
press the words more on their memory than rapid 
ones ; and it is said, that you study more perfectly 
from an ill-written copy than a good manuscript, as 
the pains taken to ascertain the sentences impress 
them indelibly on the memory. This is carrying 
matters perhaps a little too far. Cathcart (late of 
the Cobourg) never wrote out a part, or kept a 
book; once studied, he never forgets a line. Mr. 
Munroe never wrote out a line in his life, and will 
repeat parts at one reading that he has performed a 
dozen years before. Mr. Bartley, of Covent Garden, 
possesses a w 7 onderful memory, and advocates re- 
peating the part aloud, as the best means of study. 
Knight always learnt the entire scene in which he 
w 7 as engaged, and not the words of his part alone. 

My readers are familiar w T ith the story of Lyon, a 
country actor, learning the contents of a newspaper 
by heart in one night. The thing seems incredible ; 
but it will be remembered, that, when this feat was 
performed, newspapers did not contain one-third of ' 
the matter they do at present, and their contents 
were not half so miscellaneous. A member of the 
present Covent Garden company, whilst sojourning 
at Greenwich, a few years back, undertook to get by 
heart a copy of the Times newspaper; in the course 
of that week he had also to study seven parts for 
the theatre, yet he completed his task, and won his 
wager, delivering the whole of the journal from the 
title and date to the end — this was averaged at six 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE* 41 

thousand lines ; but the wonder consists more in the 
perplexing nature of the thing studied than the 
quantity. 

Learning line by line, as a school-boy acquires his 
task, though laborious in practice, will be found the 
most rapid method in the end ; a scene thus learnt 
should then be repeated throughout, and never pro- 
ceed to the following one till you are easy in the 
first. 

Jf you have to deliver the concluding lines, or tag 
of the piece, study them first ; an error in any other 
part of the performance may be overlooked, but to 
blunder in the catastrophe is irretrievable, and sure 
to obtain that sort of notice that every performer is 
anxious to avoid. 

Always study any letter you have to read upon 
the stage; prompters, to save themselves trouble, 
often write them incorrectly or illegibly, besides it 
is difficult to read upon the stage, as the lights are 
below you ; and if these considerations do not weigh 
with you, remember that few persons have nerve 
enough to read audibly at first sight 

Ascertain at rehearsal how the names are pro- 
nounced — no education can direct you in this ; the 
slender and broad a are variously used in Gratiano, 
Bassanio, &c. — as Mathews sa}^s of the muskets, 
" it don't matter which, but be all of a piece." 

In the " Quito Gate," I remember two actors in 
the metropolis calling the hero Gy-o-neche, and the 
others Ge-o-net-che, which, it being an Italian name, 
was proper, but many of the auditors imagined that 
they spoke of different persons. 



e2 



42 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

ON THE MANAGEMENT 6f THE VOICE. 

Means of improving and strengthening it, and restoring it 
when weakened or exhausted. 

If a good voice be one of the requisites for the 
profession, it will he matter of surprise that so many 
who lack this advantage should have succeeded; 
but the fact is, that the terms good and bad are 
applied to voices very improperly. All our critics 
declared Young's voice to be good, though he was 
afflicted with a lisp that rendered his enunciation 
thick and indistinct, whilst Kean's voice was declared 
to be bad and harsh, though the lower tones of it 
were more beautiful than those of any other per- 
former. It is the management, rather than the 
nature, of the voice that is of importance. John 
Kemble's tones were naturally weak and mono- 
tonous, yet he produced great effect, whilst Mr. 
Archer, who has a most extensive, powerful, and 
harmonious voice, seems really to study to display 
it to the greatest disadvantage. 

We are not all blessed with Stentorian power, but 
the weakness of the organs of speech should not be 
considered a bar to success upon the stage : one of 
the least powerful voices (Keeley's) has been brought 
to effect wonders in low comedy, and the great Miss 
Kelly affects her audiences through the medium of 
an organ anything but strong. 

Practice will strengthen any voice, and attention 
to the mode of living give fulness to its tones, un- 
less indeed in very peculiar cases. The Reverend 
Dr. B. Colly er's voice, and voices of that description, 
could never perhaps be brought to any degree of 
fulness, but these are peculiar instances. 

To be in perfect voice, it is necessary to be in 
perfect health, this is certain ; and all the quackeries 
of empirics, or the efforts of medicine, will fail if the 
health is affected. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 43 

Actors of all beings should least encumber them- 
selves with the ridiculous appendages of modern 
attire — cravats. As it is necessary in all shape 
dresses that the throat should be exposed, they are 
continually subjected, in their changes from their 
ordinary to their dramatic attire, to catch cold, and 
become afflicted with hoarseness, the irritation at- 
tending which tends materially to weaken the vocal 
powers; warmth of any kind should not be applied 
to the throat — bathing. in cold water, and gargling 
with the same, has been advised, and will be found 
efficacious. All stimulants for the voice are de- 
cidedly bad; acids, which restore the tone for an in- 
stant, do material injury ultimately. In all cases of 
obstruction, be it remembered, that to gargle the 
throat is better than to drink ; a gargle of port wine 
and water will do wonders with some systems, but it 
has an injurious effect on the finer tones of the voice, 
and should not be used by singers. 

The Italians, who attend more to their tones than 
any other nation, prohibit all stone fruits, nuts, 
oranges, lemons, tea, cheese, port wine, &c. &c. ; this 
is perhaps too severe a regimen, but there is little 
doubt but that an inordinate use of any of these 
articles does an injury to the tone, if not to the 
power of the organs of speech. 

Frequent exercise of all the tones of the voice to 
the whole of its compass, both in singing and speak- 
ing, give a firmness and certainty to a speaker ; 
and this, with abstemious living, is the best pre- 
scription for strengthening the weak, or sustaining 
the strong. When the voice, from exertion, begins 
to fail, as in the case of an actor playing two or 
three characters per night is too likely to occur, 
the best stimulant is sal prunella, a piece of which, 
about the size of a hazel nut, dissolved in the 
mouth, will restore the voice. An anchovy with 
some persons will answer the purpose, whilst others 
£nd an egg beat up in a glass of Madeira equally 



44 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

efficacious ; brandy is a restorative pro tempore, but 
the voice will be apt to fail again almost im- 
mediately. To ladies I should decidedly recommend 
the Madeira and egg ; or Sherry, if good Madeira 
cannot be procured; or three spoonsful of the com- 
pound tincture of cinnamon in water. A gargle, 
composed of vinegar, salt, and cayenne pepper, 
sparingly used, will generally restore the voice 
pro tempore. 

It has been said that there is no music like that of 
the human voice — it may be added, there is no in- 
strument so likely to get out of tune; it is the key to 
the general state of the health, for the throat and 
tongue are nearly the first places where ordinary 
illnesses discover themselves. Gargling the throat 
at night is important to all persons with regard to 
their general health, as well as their vocal efforts. 

I may perhaps be charged with violating the trust 
of friendship in giving the celebrated recipe, (which 
I here insert), to the public, but the good nature of 
Mrs. Salmon will, I am sure, excuse me ; she has for 
years derived great benefit from the following mix- 
ture, and will not begrudge her sisters and brothers 
of the drama any advantage they may gain by its 
use. 

A quarter of a pound of pearl barley simmered 
until almost boiling, then mix two ounces of Spanish 
liquorice cut into small pieces ; let it boil for ten 
minutes, strain off the whole, gently pressing the 
mixture, and before it is cold add one gill of Madeira. 
The quantity of water to boil the pearl barley in is 
three pints and a half. After boiling and pressing, 
it will reduce to three half pints. 

Previous to singing or speaking, drink one gill, 
the second time half a gill, and so on, reducing the 
quantity through the night. 

No acid to be introduced into or used with the 
mixture. 

This recipe, though expressly meant for a singer, 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 45 

will be found useful to the actor, or orator, it acting 
on the throat, by preventing the accumulation of 
phlegm. 

Pantomime performers invariably use barley water 
to sustain them during their exertions, and this, as a 
general medicine, is perhaps the safest and best. 
Madeira, though excellent, is of a more exciting 
nature, and such a medicine perhaps few of my male 
readers would have forbearance enough to use in 
moderation. 



THE REQUISITE ACCOMPLISHMENTS FOR 
AN ACTOR OR ACTRESS. 

Previous to considering this part of my subject, 
I must inform my readers, that very many most suc- 
cessful actors, so far from possessing accomplish- 
ments, were, on their outset in the profession, abso- 
lutely, wholly uneducated. I could mention two in- 
dividuals now walking the first green-rooms of our 
national theatres, who actually could not read until 
they had been some time on the stage; poorF — — , 
a country actor of great genius and promise, was 
under the necessity of having characters read to 
him, and in this way he studied Richard the Third, 
&c. &c. The many dilemmas that such an actor 
must occasionally fall into may be conceived; at the 
same time, a man, well knowing his deficiency, will 
be (and almost invariably is) doubly diligent, but the 
exigences of a theatre are sure, sooner or later, to 
bring this lamentable want to light, however care- 
fully it may be attempted to be concealed. 

I have been induced to say this much to prove 
that education is not an indispensable to acting, al- 
though no one will for a moment have the temerity 
to deny that, to an extent, it is requisite. 

Of accomplishments for the stage, I shall first 



46 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

mention Dancing, without the aid of which the fol- 
lowing characters cannot be played, according to 
their respective authors — Duke Aranza, "Honey 
Moon"— Henry, "Speed the Plough"— My Lord 
Duke, "High Life Below Stairs" — Splash, "Young 
Widow"— The Three Singles— Frank Heartall, 
" Soldier's Daughter," &c. &c. 

Many o'f those who will honour me by perusing 
these pages, may remember an actor, in the cha- 
racter of Corinthian Tom, dancing in the Almack 
scene; although the gentleman's performance of 
that character was very excellent, yet, from not 
having cultivated an acquaintance with Terpsichore, 
he in this one scene destroyed all our prepossessions 
of the all-accomplished Tom; whereas Connor, if he 
did not, by his admirable Hibernian jig, completely 
make the character of Dr. O'Tool, at least consider- 
ably heightened the effect of it. 

Ellistonwas the only Doricourt upon the stage who 
danced the Minuet de la Cour, and this he made a 
great feature of his performance; while Egerton, 
though he opened in the Duke Aranza, at the Hay- 
market, did not dance at all, thus marring the whole 
effect of the scene, as the duke pointedly insists on 
Juliana dancing, and declares his intention of joining 
the merry circle himself. 



MUSIC. 

Opera has made such rapid strides within a few 
years, that almost all members of a theatre are called 
into action in this department. Music has become a 
mania in this country — it is the indispensable ac- 
complishment of females in almost all stations of 
life, and to be ignorant of it is at once a disclosure of 
a confined education. It is with deep regret that I 
observe how much this rage for crotchets is destroy- 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 47 

ing the legitimate drama of the country; we are 
imitating the French, the Germans, and the Italians, 
in their amusements. Places of amusement are de- 
serted for puhlic houses, where a set of ignorant fel- 
lows, who unfortunately are capable of roaring forth a 
song, are engaged. These individuals mart their 
exertions for liquor, and these gratuitous perform- 
ances of course tend to thin the benches of our thea- 
tres. Bagnigge Wells and the Grecian Saloon have 
long put forth entertainments of this description, and 
a more formidable attempt has lately been made at a 
place called the Rotunda, in Blackfriars-road. Here 
a set of singers are regularly engaged, and the auditor 
is admitted for the sake of the wine he is expected to 
consume, The inducements such a place holds 
forth to the Bacchanal I need not enlarge upon, and 
I can only express my wonder that any lady can be 
prevailed upon to sing at a receptacle for general 
company, and where it is more than probable that 
half her auditors will be intoxicated. If the theatres 
do not interfere to protect themselves, musical 
meetings of this description will increase, and the 
drama only live in record. Shakspeare, Otway, 
Congreve, and Sheridan, will fall beneath the efforts 
of Richards' comic songs and port wine negus. It 
is useless to reprobate the bad taste that the visitors 
of such places display, the fault is in those who per- 
mit the existence of the temptation. The drama is 
a national good; it should be guarded by govern- 
ment, and these innovations quelled as nuisances. 
I beg to disclaim, in these observations, any indivi- 
dualism; several talented persons may be found con- 
nected with such establishments, but they are assu- 
redly putting their talents to a very mean use ; they 
are destroying all the intellectuality of a public 
performance, by suffering mental amusement to 
be blended wath the coarsest physical enjoyment. 
If, as I deeply fear, a few years increases these 



48 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 






Apollonian and Bacchanalian resorts, and decreases 
our theatres, I shall have some satisfaction in re- 
membering that, humble as my power was, I was the 
first to raise my voice against a system, injurious to 
the best interests of the stage, and destructive to the 
respectability of its professors. 

There is one theatre in London for which no actor 
will be engaged unless he has some knowledge of 
music, viz. — the Theatre Royal, English Opera 
House. Although the season is a short one, yet this 
theatre, under the able management of Mr. Arnold, 
has been the stepping-stone to some of our leading 
actors. Harley, Wilkinson, and J. Russell, all made 
their first metropolitan bows in one season here; 

. poor Chatterley also appeared the same year. Miss 
Love's first introduction to the stage was on these 
boards; here it was that Miss Kelly developed her 
splendid endowments; and it has been the arena 
where Mathews has displayed all his versatility. 

There is no line of the drama in which it may not 
be requisite to sing. Iago, Falkland, Edgar, (" King 
Lear,") and Incle, all vocalize, and it cannot be very 
agreeable to the feelings of any tragedian, after being 
highly applauded for his exertions in the course of 
the character, to be laughed at for his attempt to 
sing. In light comedy it is continually requisite to 
execute music, and sometimes of no very easy cha- 
racter, as Baron Willinghurst, Captain Beldare, and 
Delaval (as originally written), Sparkish, The 
Singles, &c. &c. Old Men and Low Comedians 
must sing. Terry was the only performer that I can 
call to mind who pertinaciously persisted in a re- 
fusal. The lack of power to execute any music pre- 
cluded the late Oxberry from a number of characters, 
in which he might otherwise have outstripped all 

competition. 

No person, however deficient he may be, should 
despair of being enabled, by practice, to execute any 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 49 

music commonly assigned to a comedian. I say 
commonly, for the music of Figaro, and some other 
modern productions and adaptations, are exceptions 
to this observation. It is necessary for every per- 
former to acquire at least such a knowledge as to 
distinguish the various notes and keys, and to count 
the time of every different movement, "With this 
knowledge, which he may acquire in a short time, 
he may avoid committing himself. With regard to 
singing, practice, and nothing but practice, can assist 
him ; and learning to play on an instrument is the 
readiest way to create a voice, and correct a bad ear. 
Lack of ear and vocal power are generally co-existent, 
and though I do not mean to affirm that a first singer 
can be made, an endurable one decidedly can from 
the most unpromising materials. I could give a 
hundred instances, but I fear I should hurt the 
feelings of some of my friends . I shall venture how- 
ever to mention one extreme case, and though I 
have not the honour of the gentleman's acquaint- 
ance, I think I may rely on his good sense and good 
humour to excuse the mention of his name. Mr. 
Yates had an ear so little attuned to harmony, that 
he was said to be scarcely capable of distinguishing 
between "God save the King" and "Over the Water 
to Charley," and on one occasion, it is affirmed, 
whilst singing "Bartholomew Fair," the band, for a 
frolic, struck up another air, but the performer pro- 
ceeded quite unmindful of the alteration ; yet any of 
my readers that may be (and most of them doubtless 
have been) delighted by Mr. Yates' performances 
a la Mathews, will remark that he now executes his 
songs, to say the least, in a style of respectability. 

Under the head of " Means of Improving the 
Voice," the reader will find some observations that 
may be useful, and prescriptions that will facilitate 
his vocal exertions. 

In melo-drama, and serious pantomime, a slight 

F 



50 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

knowledge of music is indispensable, where a cer- 
tain number of things are to be done upon the stage 
during the execution of so many bars of music ; the 
cues too for entrances and exits are frequently only 
the changes of the air, and unless the ear is culti- 
vated (if naturally bad) the performer will be led 
into error. At the time I was myself in the habit of 
perpetrating divers melo-dramatic characters in the 
provinces, I was obliged to get my brother to attend 
me behind the scenes to tell me when my music was 
on ; when, as continually occurs, a certain act is to 
be done to a single note, nothing but learning the 
music, or counting the time, can insure correctness. 
One visit to the Cobourg Theatre will convince any 
sceptic how much effect is enhanced by attention to 
these minutiee ; the things are indeed little, but the 
effect is great. 

Kean and Young both considered music essential 
— the latter gentleman is an excellent pianiste j 
the late John Kemble, whenever he had music at his 
exits, was as particular in his observance of it as any 
serio-pantomimic performer ; and Mrs. Siddons', 
acting to the music of the march, (in Coriolanus) 
has been made the object of an eulogy by her last 
biographer, Campbell. 

FENCING. 

Fencing on the stage is more cultivated for effect 
than any thing else, and a very slender knowledge of 
the art is sufficient; grace goes further than skill; a 
few lessons, if the pupil is not uncommonly dull, will 
be sufficient ; it is not essential to rival Kean, or the 
late Bengough, in the use of the sword, but utter 
ignorance of the art is destructive to any one; 
Edwards' failure in Richard, at Covent Garden, was 
decided by his wretched combat — I need not add 
how Kean's success was enhanced by his excellent 
one. I should recommend an actor studying fencing 



the road to the stage. 51 

under a brother performer, rather than a professor, 
who will trouble him with the technicalities, not the 
utilities, of the art. Mr. Blanchard, of the Cobourg 
and Drury Lane Theatres, is an exquisite swords- 
man, and an able instructor. The first position is the 
most important feature of dramatic fencing, and if 
the reader has ever noticed Elliston, C. Kemble, 
Warde, or Talbot (the Irish manager), in attitude, 
he will admit the justice of my observation. The 
broad-sword is of easier acquisition; it is essential in 
Macbeth, and in all melo-drames. Messrs. Bradley 
and Blanchard brought this species of combat to 
perfection upon the minor stages ; and Wallack and 
T. P, Cooke have afforded some exquisite specimens 
of it at the English Opera House, and the two 
Royal Theatres ; a good combat has saved a bad 
piece, for John Bull is a lover of fighting of all 
descriptions. 

FRENCH. 

A knowledge of this language is a component part 
of that education every actor should have received; 
to a light comedian, and the performer of eccentrics, 
it is indispensable. Crackley, in " Green Man," and 
a multitude of other parts, cannot be personated by a 
man ignorant of the Gallic tongue. In this, as in 
fencing, a superficial knowledge may be sufficient ; 
correct pronunciation is of courSe the grand re- 
quisite; Mathews is a model for imitation; J.Rus- 
sell is also a good Frenchman; Miss Walpole, once 
at Covent Garden, and afterwards at the Olympic, is 
the best French scholar I have ever had the pleasure 
of meeting in the profession. 

On the subject of language, I need scarcely re- 
mark, that however confined an actor's education 
may have been, nothing can excuse his attempting 
Panglos, Gradus, or Tommy, in " All at Coventry," 






52 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

without having ascertained the literal meaning and 
proper accentuation of the quotations he has to 
deliver. 



BENEFITS. 

In your engagement this subject must not be over- 
looked ; when you are aware on what terms you can 
have it. The first thing to be considered is, whe- 
ther it is advisable to risk taking the whole house 
on yourself, share with the manager after a certain 
sum, or whether you will take one half of the house. 
If you are not disposed to run any of these risks, 
you can take what is termed a ticket night, L e. sell 
as many tickets as you can on the night appointed, 
and for all that come in, you pay the manager half, 
reserving to yourself the other half, out of which you 
have to pay your extra printing, such as announce 
bills, tickets, &c, the manager only finding the 
usual bills for the night's performance ; unless you 
can sell four pounds worth of tickets you will, in all 
probability, be out of pocket for printing alone. 

A portion of the inhabitants of every town are 
what is termed play-going people, and amongst 
these are many who mislead an actor as to the 
amount of tickets they can dispose of for his benefit. 
When violent professions of services on these occa- 
sions are made, they ought to be received cautiously, 
for it is not uncommon, on the morning of your 
benefit, to receive a note with every ticket returned 
to you from the very man who had promised you 
most unlimited support, making some slight excuse, 
and lamenting that your benefit cannot be put off to 
some more favourable period. Men say over their 
glass at night much more than they care to remem- 
ber over their tea-cup in the morning ; and if a per- 
former obtains five per cent, on his promises, he 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 53 

may consider himself fortunate. In the metropolis, 
it has been of late years deemed unfashionable to go 
to benefits ; that this was the expedient of the unwil- 
ling to avoid or evade the fulfilment of promises, 
made in a moment of excitement, is not improbable ; 
but from whatever cause it has arisen, it is certainly 
but too true; and that a comedian of Dowton's value 
cannot venture to take the house, is a sufficient 
voucher for the fact. 

It is to be regretted that benefits cannot be 
abolished, as they tend to the degradation of the 
professors of the histrionic art, those who have least 
talent to procure friends, having generally the most 
perseverance in soliciting patronage ; and the under- 
ling of a theatre, who can and will go from house to 
house like a pauper to vend his tickets, will often 
procure a bumper, where a man of genius finds but 
a beggarly account of empty boxes. Kean's provin- 
cial benefits were always failures. There is a distinc- 
tion between carelesness to your own interest, and 
degrading humiliation : as the hope of a benefit is 
some consideration in an engagement, all fair and 
honourable means of obtaining support should be 
resorted to. In some towns (Bath for one) per- 
formers are prohibited from visiting or writing to 
solicit patronage. Benefit-making is an art \ Rayner, 
it has been said, could make one upon Salisbury 
Plain, but few have such a facility. I shall not pre- 
tend to lay down any rules upon the subject, but a 
few words of advice may not be thrown away. 

Do not select pieces to exhibit or please yourself, 
but to give pleasure to your auditors. 

Do not make experiments on that night by play- 
ing a part out of your line ; if you are determined to 
make a fool of yourself, do not do it when all your 
friends are around you, for of all persons you have 
the least right to disgust or annoy them. 

Precedence of benefits is generally decided by 

v 2 



54 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE* 

drawing lots, though it is sometimes left to the 
nomination of the manager. On receiving notice of 
the night intended, your duty is to inform the ma- 
nager of the pieces you wish to select, and he will 
acquiesce or dissent according to the power of the 
company to enact them. A play, interlude, and 
farce, are generally allowed, but upon this subject 
the regulations of theatres differ. The manager will 
give you the cast of pieces, though it is generally 
allowed, as a matter of courtesy, that you should 
choose the part you would yourself represent. On 
receiving the casts of the pieces, you must make out 
your bill, and include every thing you intend having 
done upon the night, either song, dance, or other- 
wise. This bill the manager peruses, approves, 
and signs; to publish your bill without his sanc- 
tion, is in some theatres a forfeiture of your benefit 
in toto. 

That robberies have been committed by door- 
keepers has been too clearly proved by recent inves- 
tigations ; every performer who takes a benefit has a 
right to put his own cheque-takers at the door — no 
false notion of delicacy should prevent an actor 
taking this precaution. One provincial manager had 
his circuit bought out of his hands by one of his 
money-takers, and a person at Coventry received a 
double salary for years, as money-taker, as a reward 
for having discovered and exposed the robberies 
nightly made by his predecessors. 

A mistaken notion prevails respecting benefits 
generally, which in all cases are more profitable to 
the manager than the performer; they are attended 
with the utmost anxiety and trouble, and poor 
Denning, who expired at Bristol, is not the only 
instance of a man whose life has been sacrificed in 
the effort to make a house. 

Rely little upon tavern companions, and remember 
that, against your profits (if any) from them, you 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE, 55 

should set off the Bacchanalian expenses that your 
acquaintance with them involved. 

If the pieces you select require the aid of super- 
numeraries, you must pay them ; if it involves any 
peculiar properties, such as supper, wine, &c, the 
property man's bill must be liquidated by you. 
This, in some cases ("High Life Below Stairs"), 
may become a serious consideration. 

Amongst the many usages of other days, that of 
the performer, taking the benefit, sending in some 
refreshment to his brethren, was one which I must 
regret to see becoming obsolete ; it tended to pre- 
serve the spirit of good fellowship, that alone can 
make a, theatre endurable. The custom is abolished 
in many circuits, and a performer will of course use 
his own discretion as to reviving it where it is not 
now done, or acquiescing where it is. 

If the music, or book of the piece you require to 
be played, is not in the stock, you must procure 
them at your own expense ; for the arrangement of 
the music for the band you must remunerate the 
leader of the band. The standard regulation of 
most theatres is, that no performer shall produce 
more than one new piece on his night; but this rule 
is so frequently departed from, that it may be said to 
have ceased to exist. 

A common thing at benefits is to obtain the as- 
sistance of some amateur, who, for permission to 
expose his inefficiency, will take a certain number 
of tickets. This evil is spreading rapidly ; it would 
be well if performers considered the just prejudice 
existing against private actors, and reflected how 
much an amateur's name will keep out of the house, 
and set that off against any sum he may bring in. 
An actor should also consider that he has the same 
ground to tread the following year, and that, if his 
friends have been once annoyed by the crude efforts 
of an uninitiated novice, they will be in no great 



56 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

hurry to run the chance of a repetition of the suf- 
fering. 

It is not among the recognised rights of per- 
formers to introduce any one not engaged at the 
theatre, and in some cases it is strictly prohibited, 
but leave is generally granted on application to the 
manager. 

It is my duty to state the best method of making 
a benefit, however contrary to my feelings all ex- 
pedients on this subject may be.' The first point is, 
to enter alphabetically in a book the names of all 
the persons you know in every town in which you 
sojourn. This was Munden's system, and his habit 
with regard to orders was, to book his acquaintances 
in regular succession day after day for them, and 
when he presented his tickets, he was prepared to 
enforce his claims to their patronage by the mention 
of the number of orders he had presented them with. 
In this way, benefit-making is a mere bargain and 
sale of orders, and perhaps this is a better footing to 
place it on, than any reliance on the kindness of 
casual acquaintances. 

A man, whose private conduct is good, and whose 
public talent is even respectable, will find little 
difficulty in obtaining from one town letters of 
recommendation to the residence of another. These 
should be obtained, as to them are many performers 
solely indebted for their character of being the best 
benefit-makers in the profession. 

If you take half of the house with any other per- 
former, it will be necessary to have a private agree- 
ment with regard to tickets; for if he can only sell 
ten, and you fifty pounds' worth, it would be 
manifestly unjust that the tickets should be equally 
divided. The best way, in these cases, is to divide 
the money taken at the doors equally, and for each 
party to stand by his own tickets. I remember 
Miss S , at Drury, from neglecting this pre- 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 5? 

caution, having to pay one hundred and ninety- 
eight pounds, out of her ticket money alone, to her 
co-partner in the benefit. 

Though it may be the custom of the theatre to 
advertise the performances of the night in the 
journal of the town, the advertisement of a benefit 
is expected to be drawn, sent, and paid for, by the 
performer himself, and a copy of the advertisement 
should be submitted to the manager's approval 
previous to printing. 

The number of days allowed the performer for the 
announcement of his benefit differs in various places, 
but a week's notice may be considered as the average 
time allowed. 

A few years ago it would have been superfluous in 
a work of this nature, to have offered a word on the 
subject of benefits, as connected with the metro- 
politan theatres ; but now that we have first appear- 
ances by dozens, and persons absolutely learning 
their business before a London audience, and in a 
national theatre, it may not be improper to state that 
it is utter madness for any, but a few favoured in- 
dividuals, and those who have powerful interest, to 
attempt to risk a benefit, the doing which involves an 
actor's pnding security to the amount of upwards of 
two hundred pounds, taking the venture of some 
powerful counter attractions, wet nights, &c. 

The present licenser of plays has introduced divers 
nouvelle regulations, and though this work is not 
addressed to metropolitan performers, it may be as 
well to hint, that no song can now be sung at a 
benefit unless it has passed the licenser's ordeal, and 
he has received two guineas for his sanction. Emery 
and Knight, who often sang three new songs each on 
their benefits, would have found this a heavy tax. 



5$ THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

ON MAKING SUPERIOR ENGAGEMENTS. 

I shall now presume to offer a few hints to those 
who have overcome the first difficulties of the pro- 
fession, and are looking forward to a little comfort. 
" Ladies and Gentlemen — Don't believe every body 
that tells you you are the eighth wonder of the 
w T orld." It is the custom of stars, when they choose 
to be agreeable, to single out one or more members 
of a country company as persons whom they are 
pleased to say " are wanted in London," and this so 
far misleads the individual, that, should an offer be 
made from the metropolis, it is too readily caught at. 
It is the height of madness to come out in London 
upon speculation, that is, to depend on an opening 
part; watch the London play bills, and ask what has 
become of the Gentlemen and Ladies from such and 
such theatres, and " their first appearance in Lon- 
don ? " Many of them well received, but what does 
that signify, they had fifty pounds' worth of friends 
on the night to support them, and the managers 
know, by experience, that such support will not be 
continued, therefore the interest in the debutant no 
longer exists. No actor or actress should come to 
London except under an engagement, and not then 
if they hold comfortable country situations, unless, 
indeed, they see the field open for them. Harley 
hit upon a golden moment— Lovegrove dead, or 
dying — Banister retiring, &c. — thus Mr. H. had an 
immense range of business, and, from being con- 
tinually before the public, increased nightly in their 
good graces, and is now an established favourite ; 
Miss Jarman set a price on her exertions, and re- 
sisted all offers until her terms were complied with ; 
Salter, of the Manchester theatre, had an offer of a 
three years' engagement at Drury, on his own terms 
as to salary, but refused to risk the loss of his pro- 
vincial fame by dividing the leading business with 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 59 

another. Mr. S. practised his profession so success- 
fully in the country, as to net an income of five hun- 
dred pounds per annum. 

It would be tedious to mention the many talented 
individuals who have to lament having depended on 
an opening in a London theatre; often, too, having 
to add to their mortification that they appeared in a 
part the very reverse of what they desired, merely 
because it suited the exigences of the theatre. Mr. 
Osbaldiston, who was engaged as a leading trage- 
dian, at the Haymarket, after refusing various cha- 
racters, was compelled, not wishing to appear too 
fastidious, to open in Rolamo, in " Clari." 

At one period, the minor theatres — the Surrey, 
Cobourg, Olympic, East London, Sadler's Wells, 
and the Adelphi, held out a prospect of a few com- 
fortable situations, but now, with the exception of 
two or three salaries, there is nothing to tempt an 
actor from the country, except at the latter theatre, 
and there he will find much to contend with, as the 
company is a good one, and many of its members 
established favourites with the town. It is much to 
be lamented that the minors have so lost ground, 
but their managers may thank themselves. I 

once remember hearing a Mr. say, that Mr. 

Dunn compelled him to take four benefits per year ; 
he therefore considered that he paid Mr. D. one 
shilling and ten-pence per week for acting under his 
management. 

None but fools or madmen will work for twelve 
hours (independent of study and benefit making) for 
a guinea per week, besides being compelled to annoy 
every soul that is unfortunate enough to be within 
their reach, to do what is termed support them at 
their benefit. The avarice of managers has induced 
them to encourage a set of idlers, who exist on 
foolishly fond mothers, doting aunts, and a few de- 



60 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

luded fathers, who, knowing nothing of the stage, 
for a year or two are lulled by the dream that their 
hopeful offspring is "learning his profession," a 
thing utterly impossible as minor theatres are now 
conducted. It is not uncommon to meet, amongst 
these poor deluded creatures, some who have been 
articled to a third-rate actor, and who has, perhaps, 
received twenty pounds for teaching his pupils to 
talk on the only subject that these gentry ever 
broach — theatricals. It is not my wish to be in- 
vidious, but there are some instances too glaring to 

be omitted. Mr. B , late of the Olympic, had at 

one period eight pupils ! The talent of Mr. B. as an 
actor is not the question, but that gentleman must 
be aware that there is nothing that he can teach that 
can possibly be beneficial to any man, woman, or 
child in existence. Garrick truly said no man can 
teach acting — it is as ridiculous as attempting to 
make a man a poet. The hope that these perfor- 
mers should obtain engagements for their unfor- 
tunate pupils is also fallacious. These gentlemen,, 
in the present uncertain state of dramatic specu- 
lations, can seldom insure engagements for them- 
selves; and in the way of dramatic promotion, 
perhaps more than in any other mundane concern, 
" charity beginneth at home." 

The rule of all leading engagements is that the 
performer should name his first three parts, though 
in the case of a lady, who has recently appeared, ten 
characters were agreed upon, which the manager 
bound himself to let her perform in the course of the 
season. 

The celebrated Smith, the original Charles Sur- 
face, made it one of the express terms of his engage- 
ment, that he should never be required to blacken 
his face, or to descend a trap. The late Mr. Lewis 
had an understanding with the proprietors of Covent 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 61 

Garden, that he should not be called upon to per- 
form any part in which he had to wear a shabby 
dress ; and, in consequence of this, it was sometime 
ere he was persuaded to appear as Lackland, in 
" Fontainbleau;' , his success in this, however, in- 
duced him to consent to wear faded habiliments in 
Jeremy Diddler, which he had positively refused to 
do in Sponge, in "Cheap Living." 

All the engagements for our royal theatres are 
now made terminable at the pleasure of the manager, 
though not of the performer, at the end of the first 
season ; it is better not to come to town at all, than 
to consent to this. The circumstance of a performer 
being discharged thus (which maybe done in a mo- 
ment of managerial caprice), damns him for ever in 
London ; one season is not a sufficient period to make 
an impression in the metropolis — the run of a piece 
may limit your performance to a few nights. Mr. 
G. Bennett was engaged at the Haymarket some few 
summers since, and, in consequence of the run of their 
lightpieces, never appeared at all, though retained at 
a large salary. Some may consider this a very plea- 
sant and easy method of amassing money, but mark 
the result — managers soon cease to engage those they 
can do without, and Mr. B. is not at present a mem- 
ber of either of the theatres. This exclusion ex- 
isted for one or two seasons, until Mr. B. re-created 
a provincial fame, and was re-engaged for Drury. 
Had his engagement been for three years certain, 
in the second season, in all probability, his talent 
would have been in requisition, and, his value being 
appreciated by the exertion afforded it, he might 
have renewed at the expiration of his agreement. 



62 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Articles and Rules of the Theatre Royal, 
Drury Lane. 



Articles of Agreement indented, made, and 
entered into this day of , one 

thousand eight hundred and , between 

S. P , of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, 

within the city and liberties of Westminster, 
Esquire, of the one part, and of the 

other part, (that is to say) 

The said S. P , doth hereby agree to engage 

and employ, and by these presents doth engage and 
employ the said as a performer at the said 

Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, for the term of 
to commence from the day of , or 

as soon after as the theatre shall be opened, at the 
rate of the weekly salary, and according to the usual 
playhouse payment of for every six nights of 

theatrical performances at the said Theatre Royal, 
Drury Lane, and so in proportion for any less num- 
ber of nights of theatrical performances in the week, 
so long as the said shall and do well and duly 

perform, and fulfil the engagements and agreements 
hereinafter contained, on part; such weekly 

salary or payment to be made, if demanded, on the 
last day of every week of performance, at the trea- 
sury or pay office of the said theatre, during the 
usual office hours, the stoppages, as herein men- 
tioned, if any shall be incurred, being first deducted. 

And the said S. P , for himself, his executors, 

administrators, successors, or assigns, doth hereby 
covenant and agree to and with the said 
executors, or administrators, that the said 
having duly performed agreements and en- 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 63 

gagements in the manner hereinafter mentioned, but 
not otherwise, shall he allowed the use of the said 
theatre, for one benefit night in every season during 
the said term, to perform there one such play or 
opera, and one burletta, or ballet, or farce, or musical 
afterpiece, to be chosen out of the common stock list 
of acting plays, except any new piece, or revived 
piece, produced during the season, in which such 
benefit shall be taken, as shall fix upon, such 

night, as to the priority and order thereof, to be 
named and assigned by the manager for the time 
being of the said theatre, and according to the usage 
observed in the London theatres : the said 
first paying to the treasurer for the time being, of the 
said theatre, the sum of two hundred guineas for 
such use of the said theatre, exclusive of extra 
charges for new dresses, copying, printing, adver- 
tising, and supernumeraries, and other incidental 
charges, if any there be. Provided always, in case 
the said sum of two hundred guineas, and the amount 
of such extra charges, shall not be paid previously to 
such benefit night, then it is hereby agreed by and 
between the said parties hereto, that it shall and may 

be lawful to and for the said S. P , his executors, 

administrators, successors, or assigns, or the treasurer 
for the time being, to stop and retain the said sum 
of two hundred guineas, together with the amount 
of such extra charges out of the monies to be received 
on such benefit night at the doors of the said theatre : 
and in case the amount of the monies so to be re- 
ceived shall not be sufficient to pay and defray the 
same, that then the deficiency shall be retained and 
made good by and out of the weekly salary due or 
to become due to the said , and in case the 
amount of the said salary shall not be sufficient, then 
the said , executors, administrators, or assigns, 
shall and will be answerable for and pay the defi- 
ciency on demand, to the said S. P , his exe- 



64 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

cutors, administrators, successors, or assigns; or if 
the said S. P , his executors, administrators, suc- 
cessors, or assigns, shall think fit, give such reason- 
able security as may he demanded for the payment 
of deficiencies, that may be due on account of the 
said charges : Provided always, and it is hereby fur- 
ther declared and agreed, by and between the said 
parties, that in case the said shall at any time 
during the said term of , by sickness, indispo- 
sition, infirmity, or by any other restraint, accident, 
reason, or cause whatsoever, be absent from rehear- 
sal or performance, at the time or times , shall 
or may be required to attend then, and in every such 
case, and as often as it shall so happen, the salary, or 
a proportion thereof, according to the time or dura- 
tion of such absence, shall and may, at the discre- 
tion of the said S.P , his executors, administra- 
tors, successors, or assigns, or the manager of the 
said theatre for the time being, be suspended and not 
paid, but the same be thereupon retained. It being 
always understood, that the said shall give a 
written notice unto the said S. P , or his ma- 
nager, when the said shall be capable of 
resuming professional duties. 

And the said doth hereby covenant and 
agree with the said S. P , his executors, admi- 
nistrators, successors, or assigns, that 
the said shall and will at all times during 
the said term of attend rehearsals, and per- 
form all such characters or parts in any plays, operas, 
after-pieces, burlettas, chorusses, masks, ballets, 
preludes, interludes, pantomimes, dances, processions, 
and other pieces or entertainments to be performed 
or exhibited at the said theatre, or at, or in any other 
place or theatre, during the term of year 

as aforesaid, and recite such prologues and epilogues 
there as the said S. P , his executors, adminis- 
trators, successors, or assigns, or his or their ma- 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 65 

nager, or prompter, or other agent, for the time 
being, shall in the usual manner require the said 

to do, and as shall or may be within 
power or capability. And further that the 

said shall not, and will not, during the said 
term of perform, or assist, or take a benefit, 

or any part thereof, at any other theatre, or place of 
public amusement, be the same in play, opera, farce, 
burletta, oratorio, dance, concert, or otherwise, with- 
out the previous consent thereto, in writing, of the 
said S. P , his executors, administrators, suc- 
cessors, or assigns, or of his manager for the time 
being. And further that the said shall and 

may, if shall think fit, perform, or take a 

benefit or benefits, or any part thereof, during the 
summer recess of Drury Lane Theatre, provided 
such performance or benefit, or benefits, be not with- 
in six miles of Drury Lane Theatre. 

And further, that the said shall 

and will during the term of conform to the 

table of regulations, a copy whereof is hereunto an- 
nexed.. And further, that it shall and may be lawful 

for the said S. P , his executors, administrators, 

successors, or assigns, or his manager, to direct the 
treasurer for the time being of the said theatre, who 
shall thereupon, by and out of the current salary of 
the said or out of the receipt of 

benefit, to stop and retain the full amount of such 
sums as, according to the said table of regulations, 
shall become forfeited, and payable by the said 

And further, that in case the said 
shall refuse to accept or perform any part or cha- 
racter, which shall be cast or allotted to by 

the said S. P , his executors, administrators, 

successors or assigns, or his manager for the time 

being; then, and in that case the said 

shall and will forfeit and pay unto the said 

g2 



66 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

S. P , his executors, administrators, successors, 

or assigns, the sum of thirty pounds sterling and 
nine nights salary for every such refusal. 

Provided always nevertheless, and it is hereby 
declared and agreed to be the true intent and mean- 
ing of the said parties hereto and of these presents, 
that in case the said shall at any time 

during the said term of by sickness, in- 

disposition, infirmity, or by any other restraint, 
accident, reason, or cause whatever, be absent for the 
space of one month from the rehearsal or performance 
at the said theatre, at the time or times shall 

or may be required to attend, either by call to re- 
hearsal, or by public advertisement for performance, 
it shall and may be lawful to and for the said S. 

P , his executors, administrators, successors, or 

assigns, immediately after the expiration of the said 
one month, to cancel this agreement, by giving 
notice in writing to, or for the said accord- 

ing to the address of the said and which 

shall at all times be inserted by the said in 

a book kept for that purpose by the porter at the 
stage-door of the said theatre, and that then, and 
immediately thereupon these presents, and every 
payment and agreement, covenant, article, and 
clause herein contained on the part of the said S, 

P , his executors, administrators, successors, and 

assigns, to be paid, observed, and performed, shall 
cease, determine, and be at an end, and the said 
weekly salary of or any part thereof, shall 

be discontinued, and no longer paid or payable, any 
covenant, agreement, article, or thing hereinbefore 
contained to the contrary notwithstanding. 

And lastly, for the true performance of the several 
clauses and agreements hereinbefore mentioned and 
contained, the said parties do hereby bind them- 
selves and respectively each unto the other, 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 67 

in the penal sum of pounds of lawful money 

of Great Britain, firmly by these presents. 

Signed in presence of 



REGULATIONS 

Instituted for the Maintenance of Good Order in the 
Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, 

First, — The time of beginning the rehearsals and 
the performances is regulated by the green-room 
clock. 

Second. — The rehearsals, summoned at ten o'clock, 
begin at ten minutes after ten ; all other rehearsals 
begin precisely at the time mentioned in the promp- 
ter's notice. 

Third. — Any one absent from rehearsal shall for- 
feit, for such absence, in the following proportion of 
salary ; and if the part should consist of one scene 
only, it shall be considered as a whole rehearsal. 



Salaries of Per- 


First Scene in 


OtherScenesin 


WholeRehearsal 


formers. 


Play or Farce. 


Play or Farce. 


of Play or Farce. 


£ s. d. 


£ s. d. 


£ s. d. 


£ s. d. 


Up to 1 10 


1 


J 


4 


3 


2 


2 


7 


5 


3 


3 


10 


7 


4 


4 


15 


9 


6 


6 


1 


Nine pounds 1 
and above J *** 


8 


8 


2 



Fourth. — Any one standing upon the stage at re- 
hearsal, when not concerned in the scene, shall for- 
feit half-a-crown. 

Fifth. — Any person opening the stage-door shall 
forfeit ten shillings. 



68 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Sixth, — Any person standing in the entrances, 
not engaged in the scene, shall forfeit ten shil- 
lings. 

Seventh. — Any one not perfect in the words or 
music of a part, and not rehearsing it without book, 
at each of the last three rehearsals of a new play, 
opera, or farce, shall forfeit in the same proportion 
as for being absent from a whole rehearsal. 

Eighth. — Any one not perfect in the words or 
music of a part, and not rehearsing it without book, 
at the last or only rehearsal of an old play, opera, or 
farce, shall forfeit in the same proportion as for being 
absent from a whole rehearsal. 

Ninth. — Any one refusing to study, rehearse, and 
perform any character, or part, or prologue, or 
epilogue, or to assist in any dance, procession, 
chorus, mask, pantomime, and other pieces and en- 
tertainments at the appointment of the manager, 
.shall forfeit for such refusal thirty pounds and nine 
nights salary . 

Tenth. — Any one absent from the theatre at night, 
when expected by the manager to perform, shall 
forfeit one week's salary, or be liable to the forfeiture 
of the engagement, at the option of the manager, 
unless in the case of illness, confirmed by a medical 
certificate., 

Eleventh. — Any one imperfect in the words of a 
part at night shall forfeit that night's salary. 

Twelfth. — Every one shall have three weeks' 
notice to advertise a benefit play; but any one who 
sends an advertisement to a public print, or issues a 
bill, unless signed by the acting-manager, shall for- 
feit one week's salary. 

Thirteenth. — Any person taking the prompt-book 
or harpsichord-book away from the stage, or out of 
the theatre, shall forfeit ten shillings. 

Fourteenth. — All written music, if not returned 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 69 

before the close of each season, to be charged to the 
person who shall retain it. 

Fifteenth. — Every person engaged by the night 
to be subject to the same penalties for neglect of 
duty, according to the rate of salary, as those on the 
regular establishment of the theatre. 

Sixteenth. — Any performer, whose salary shall 
amount to five pounds per week, will be entitled to 
enter the first green-room. 

Seventeenth. — Any one being absent by sickness, 
indisposition, infirmity, or other cause whatsoever, 
from rehearsal or performance when required to at- 
tend, the salary of such absentee, or a part thereof, 
according to the duration of such absence, shall be 
forfeited, and written notice is to be given by the 
person when capable of resuming his or her ap- 
pointed duty; and should such absence exceed one 
month, the engagement to be cancelled at the option 
of the manager. 

Eighteenth. — Any person who shall perform, as- 
sist, or take a benefit, or part thereof, at any other 
theatre or place of public amusement, whether in 
play, opera, farce, burletta, oratorio, dance, concert, 
or otherwise, without previous consent in writing, 
shall forfeit one week's salary for every offence, 
and his or her engagement, at the option of the 
manager. 



DRAMATIC COPYRIGHT BILL. 

Mr. Bulwer's bill has established a legal right 
where a moral one had always existed; and has 
given to a dramatic author a claim to remuneration 
for the performance of his drama, whether printed 
or not, in any theatre in the United Kingdom. Since 
the passing of that act a question has arisen (Planch e 



70 THE ItOAD TO THE STAGE. 

v. Cumberland) whether an author, selling to a printer 
and publisher the copyright of a drama, previous to 
the passing of the bill, did, by that act, include a sale 
to him of the profits arising from each individual re- 
presentation as well. Lord Denman held that it was 
so ; disputation here will not affect a decision of the 
Court of King's Bench, and monstrous as it seems to 
say that Mr. Planch e, in 1830, could or did as- 
sign a right that he did not possess or dream of pos- 
sessing until 1833, yet such is the law according to 
Lord Denman's exposition of it, and sufferance must 
be the badge of the dramatic bribe. It appears that 
judges and jurors cannot discriminate between copy- 
right ; that is, the right of printing and publishing 
how and when the purchaser pleases; and the 
right of representing when and where he pleases — 
two distinct powers, which from circumstances, 
could scarcely ever be actually exercised by one 
person, for I know no one w T ho is at once a publisher 
and manager. 

By 3 Wm. IV. cap. 15, it is enacted that no person 
shall perform any play, &c. written within ten years 
of that time ; that is to say, subsequent to 9th June, 
1833, without the consent of the author or his 
assignee first had and obtained. Most of the dra- 
matic writers of the day have formed themselves into 
a society for mutual protection, entitled 

The Dramatic Authors* Society. 

The members of whom will be perceived by the 
following list. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



71 



MEMBERS OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS' 
SOCIETY. 



Messrs. Arnold, S. J. 
Abbott, W. 
Addison, H. R. 
Barnett, Morris 
Bernard, W. B. 
Buckstone, J. B. 
Dance, C. 
Dance, Gr. 
Dibdin, T. 
Farrell, J. 
Fitzball, E. 
Holl, H. 
Jeirold, D. 
Kenney, J. 
Knowles, J. S. 
Livius, B. 
Lunn, T. 



Messrs. Millengen, T. Gr. 
Milner, H. M, 
MoncriefF, W. T. 
Parry, T. 
Peake, R. B. 
Planche\ T. R. 
Pocock, T. 
Pitt, D. 

Raymond, R. T. 
Rede, W. L. 
Rodwell, Gr. H. B, 
Serle, T. J. 
Selby, C. 
Thackerav, T. J, 
Trueba, CosiaT, Dc 
Webster, B. 
Wade, T. 



HONORARY MEMBERS. 



Lythgoe, Joseph, Esq. 
Mitford, Miss 
Planch^, Mrs. 
Wilson, Mrs. Cornwall B. 



Boaden, Miss 
Bulwer,E. L., Esq., M.P. 
Dacre, Rt. Hon. Lady 
Hemans, Mrs. 
Hill, Miss Isabel 

Mr. Rophino Lacy and some other dramatists have 
not joined the society — the claims for the productions 
of these gentlemen come from their private agents. 

Mr. Miller, of Henrietta Street, bookseller and 
publisher, is the agent for the society, and the scale 
of prices demanded and received by them is as fol- 
lows. His permission in writing being considered 
equivalent to that of any one member for whose 
piece he gives the authority, 



72 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



SCALE OF PRICES, 

For Pieces brought out prior to the passing of the Dramatic 
Copyright Act. 

COUNTRY THEATRES OF THE FIRST CLASS. 

Per Night. 

£ s. d. 

A Ml piece, of Five or Three Acts . .0100 

„ of Two Acts . . . .070 

„ of One Act . . . .050 

SECOND CLASS. 

A full piece, of Five or Three Acts . .070 
„ of Two Acts . . .050 

„ of One Act . . . 3 

THIRD CLASS. 

A full piece, of Five or Three Acts . .050 
„ of Two Acts . . .030 

„ of One Act . . . .020 

N.B. — Mr. Knowles's prices are an exception to 
the scale, being charged as follows : — 

COUNTRY THEATRES, FIRST CLASS. 

The Wife 5 

The Hunchback . . . . .300 
William Tell 2 

SECOND CLASS. 

The Wife 3 

The Hunchback 2 

William Tell 10 

THIRD CLASS. 

The Wife 2 

The Hunchback 10 

William Tell 10 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 73 

All pieces originally played at the English Opera, 
Adelphi, Surrey, and Olympic Theatres, as first 
pieces, whatever may be the number of the acts, will 
be charged as first pieces in the country. And all 
one act pieces brought out at the Olympic Theatre 
will be charged as afterpieces of two acts. 

[Mr. Knowles' object previous to his migratory 
trip, was to prevent his pieces being played; the 
sums asked almost interdicting them ; as it answered 
Mr. Knowles' views better to keep his productions 
back, until he (with Miss Jarman or Miss Tree) 
visited the various towns on a star-ing tour.] 

The first class, country theatres, include the stages 
of Dublin, Liverpool, Manchester, Bath, York, Hull, 
and Edinburgh. 

The second class, Brighton, Bristol, Portsmouth, 
Exeter, Norwich. 

The third ditto, Chelmsford, North and South 
Shields, Coventry, &c. &c. 

The society expect managers to transmit files of 
their bills to Mr. Miller ; on doing so the pieces 
liable to charges are marked according to the fore- 
going scale. Persons who do not choose to furnish 
this information play the pieces at their own peril, 
and in some cases the penalty (40s.) for each per- 
formance has been sued for and obtained. 

As it may occur that a manager being at variance 
with the society might injure the views of performers ; 
any actor so situated, on applying by letter, to Mr. 
Miller, will be allowed to act any piece for his 
benefit, on the terms here specified, although the 
manager (for the time being) is interdicted. 

The object of the society being not to impede per- 
formers or managers, but to attain the objects con- 
templated by the act in an amicable and reasonable 
manner. 



74 the road to the stage. 

An Act to amend the Laws relating to Dramatic 
Literary Property. [10th June, 1833.] 

"Whereas by an act passed in the fifty-fourth year 
of the reign of his late Majesty King George the 
Third, intituled An Act to amend the several Acts for 
the encouragement of learning, by securing the 
copies and copyright of printed books to the authors 
of such books, or ilieir assigns, it was amongst other 
things provided and enacted, that from and after the 
passing of the said Act the author of any book or hooks 
composed,and not printed or published, or which should 
thereafter be composed and printed and published, and 
his assignee or assigns, should have the sole liberty 
of printing and re-printing such book or books for 
•the full term of twenty-eight years, to commence from 
the day of first publishing the same, and also, if the 
author should be living at the end of that period, for the 
residue of his natural life : and whereas, it is expe- 
dient to extend the provisions of the said Act ; be it 
therefore enacted by the King's most Excellent 
Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the 
Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, in this 
present parliament assembled, and by the authority 
of the same, That from and after the passing of this 
Act, the author of any tragedy, comedy, play, opera, 
farce, or any other dramatic piece or entertainment, 
composed, and not printed and published by the au- 
thor thereof or his assignees, or wrSch hereafter 
shall be composed and not printed or published 
by the author thereof or his assignee, or the assignee 
of such author, shall have as his own property the 
sole liberty of representing, or causing to be repre- 
sented, at any place or places of dramatic entertain- 
ment whatsoever, in any part of the United Kingdom 
of Great Britain and Ireland, in the Isles of Man, 
Jersey, and Guernsey, or in any part of the British 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. /O 

Dominions, any such production as aforesaid, not 
printed and published by the author thereof or his 
assignee, and shall be deemed and taken to be the pro- 
prietor thereof; and that the author of any such pro- 
duction, printed and published within ten years before 
the passing of this Act by the author thereof or his 
assignee, or which shall hereafter be so printed and 
published, or the assignee of such author, shall, 
from the time of passing this Act, or from the time of 
such publication respectively, until the end of twenty- 
eight years from the day of such first publication of 
the same, and also, if the author or authors, or the 
survivor of the authors, shall be living at the end of 
that period, during the residue of his natural life, 
have as his own property the sole liberty of represent- 
ing, or causing to be represented, the same at any 
such place of dramatic entertainment as aforesaid, 
and shall be deemed and taken to be the proprietor 
thereof: provided nevertheless, that nothing in this 
Act contained shall prejudice, alter, or affect the right 
or authority of any person to represent or cause to 
be represented, at any place or places of dramatic 
entertainment whatsoever, any such production as 
aforesaid, in all cases in which the author thereof or 
his assignee shall, previously to the passing of this 
Act, have given his consent to or authorized such 
representation, but that such sole liberty of the au- 
thor or his assignee shall be subject to such right 
or authority. 

IL And be it further enacted, That if any person 
shall, during the continuance of such sole liberty as 
aforesaid, contrary to the intent of this Act, or right 
of the author or his assignee, represent, or cause to 
be represented, without the consent in writing of the 
author or other proprietor first had and obtained, at 
any place of dramatic entertainment within the 
limits aforesaid, any such production as aforesaid, or 
any part thereof, every such offender shall be liable 



76 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

for each and every such representation to the pay- 
ment of an amount not less than forty shillings, or to 
the full amount of the benefit or advantage arising 
from such representation, or the injury or loss sus- 
tained by the plaintiff" therefrom, whichever shall be 
the greater damages, to the author or other proprietor 
of such production so represented contrary to the 
true intent and meaning of this Act, to be recovered, 
together with double costs of suit, by such author 
or other proprietors, in any court having jurisdic- 
tion in such cases, in that part of the said United 
Kingdom or of the British Dominion sin which the 
offence shall be committed; and in every such pro- 
ceeding where the sole liberty of such author or his 
assignee as aforesaid shall be subject to such right 
or authority as aforesaid, it shall be sufficient for the 
plaintiff' to state that he has such sole liberty, without 
stating the same to be subject to such right or 
authority, or otherwise mentioning the same. 

III. Provided nevertheless, and be it further 
enacted, That all actions or proceedings for any 
offence or injury that shall be committed against this 
Act shall be brought, sued, and commenced within 
twelve calendar months next, after such offence com- 
mitted, or else the same shall be void and of no effect. 

IV. And be it further enacted, That whenever 
authors, persons, offenders, or others are spoken of 
in this Act in the singular number or in the mascu- 
line gender, the same shall extend to any number of 
persons and to either sex. 



METHOD OF EXPRESSING THE VARIOUS 
PASSIONS, EMOTIONS, &c. 

Many attempts have been made to arrange the 
passages of a play, under the head of different 
emotions or passions, and then, by referring them to 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 77 

some general rule of performance, to intimate how 
the whole should be executed. That this system is 
an erroneous one there can be no doubt: if the actor 
cannot feel what he utters, it woidd be useless to at- 
tempt to make him run the gauntlet through a^ set 
of emotions by rule. I have subjoined to this a 
celebrated analytical review of the effect of various 
emotions on the human frame, and though they may 
not be useful for the purpose I have alluded to. they 
will not be regarded with indifference by those 
really studying the stage. They contain some general 
observations, that every one should attend to, and 
their utility in correcting an erroneous representa- 
tion of any particular emotion will be found con- 
siderable. 

Joy, when sudden and violent, is expressed by 
clapping of hands and exulting looks ; the eyes are 
opened wide, and on some occasions raised to hea- 
ven; the countenance is smiling, not composedly, 
but with features aggravated; the voice rises, from 
time to time, to very high tones. 

Delight, or pleasure, is expressed by placid looks 
and moderate smiles. 

Tranquillity, or apathy, appears by the composure 
of the countenance, and general repose of the body 
and limbs, without the exertion of any one muscle; 
the countenance open, the forehead smooth, the eye- 
brows arched, the mouth not quite shut, and the eyes 
passing with easy motion from object to object, but 
not long dwelling upon any. 

Cheerfulness adds a smile, opening the mouth a 
little more. 

Mirth, or laughter, opens the mouth still more 
towards the ears, crisps the nose, lessens the aper- 
ture of the eyes, and sometimes fills them with 
tears; shakes and convulses the whole frame, and, 
appearing to give some pain, occasions holding the 
sides. 

h2 



78 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Grief, sudden and violent, expresses itself by 
beating the head or forehead, tearing the hair, 
and catching the breath, as if choking ; also by 
screaming, weeping, stamping, lifting the eyes 
from time to time to heaven, and hurrying back- 
wards and forwards. This is a passion which 
admits, like many others, of a great deal of stage- 
trick; but which, if not well contrived, and equally 
as well executed, frequently fails of the desired effect. 
Melancholy, or fixed grief, is gloomy, sedentary, 
motionless; the lower jaw falls, the lips become 
pale, the eyes are cast down, half shut, and weep- 
ing, accompanied with a total inattention to every 
thing that passes. The words are dragged out 
rather than spoken; the accent weak and inter- 
rupted, sighs breaking into the middle of sentences 
and words. 

Despair, as in a condemned criminal (George 
Barnwell), or one who has lost all hope of salvation 
(Cardinal Wolsey), bends the eyebrows downward, 
clouds the forehead, rolls the eyes, and sometimes 
bites the lips, and gnashes with the teeth; the 
heart is supposed to be too much hardened to suffer 
the tears to flow, yet the eyeballs will be red and 
inflamed; the head is hung down upon the breast; 
the arms are bent at the elbows, the fist clinched 
hard, and the whole body strained and violently 
agitated ; groans, expressive of inward torture, ac- 
companying the words appertaining to his grief; 
the words are also uttered with a sullen, eager bit- 
terness, and the tone of his voice is often loud and 
furious. When despair is supposed to drive the 
actor to distraction and self-murder, it can seldom 
or ever be overacted. 

Fear, violent and sudden, opens the eyes and 
mouth very wide, draws down the eyebrows, gives 
the countenance an air of wildness, draws back the 
elbows parallej with the sides, lifts up the open 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 7$ 

hand (the fingers together) to the height of the 
breast, so that the palms face the dreadful object, as 
shields opposed against it ; one foot is drawn back 
behind the other, so that the body seems shrinking 
from danger, and putting itself in a posture for 
fight ; the heart beats violently, the breath is 
fetched quick and short, and the whole body is 
thrown into a general tremor. Fear is also dis- 
played, frequently by a sudden start, and in ladies 
by a violent shriek, which produces fainting; the 
voice is w^eak and trembling. 

Hope brightens the countenance, arches the eye- 
brows, gives the eyes an eager wistful look, opens 
the mouth to half a smile, bends the body a little 
forward, the feet equal, spreads the arms, with the 
hands open, as to receive the object of its longings; 
the tone of the voice is eager and uneven, inclining 
to that of joy, but curbed by a degree of doubt and 
anxiety. Desire differs from hope as to the ex- 
pression in this particular, but there is more ap- 
pearance of doubt and anxiety in the former than 
the latter; for it is one thing to desire what is 
agreeable, and another to have a prospect of actually 
obtaining it. 

Desire expresses itself by bending the body for- 
ward, and stretching the arms towards the object as 
to grasp at it; the countenance smiling, but eager 
and wistful ; the eyes wide open, and the eyebrows 
raised ; the mouth open ; the tone of voice sup- 
pliant, but lively and cheerful (unless there be dis- 
tress as well as desire) ; the words are uttered with 
a kind of rapidity, accompanied (chiefly in distress) 
with sighs. 

Love, when successful, lights up the countenance 
into smiles ; the forehead is smooth and enlarged ; 
the eyebrows are arched ; the mouth a little open 
and smiling; the eyes languishing, and half shut, 
or gazing upon the beloved object. The counte- 



BO THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

nance assumes the eager and wistful look of desire, 
as above, but mixed with an air of satisfaction and 
repose. The accents are soft and winning, the tone 
of voice persuasive, flattering, pathetic, various, 
musical, rapturous, as in joy. The attitude much 
the same as that of desire; sometimes both hands 
pressed eagerly to the bosom. Love unsuccessful, 
adds an air of anxiety and melancholy. Kneeling 
is often necessary in all suppliant passions; but it is 
only necessary to bend one knee in cases of love, 
desire, &c, which must never be the one that is 
next the audience. 

Jealousy, which is a mixture of passions, directly 
contrary to one another, can only justly be repre- 
sented by one who is capable of delineating all those 
passions by turns. Jealousy shows itself by rest- 
lessness, peevishness, thoughtfulness, anxiety, ab- 
sence of mind, &c. ; sometimes itbursts out in piteous 
complaint and weeping; then a gleam of hope, that 
all is yet well, lights the countenance into a mo- 
mentary smile. Immediately, the face clouded with 
gloom shows the mind overcast again with horrid 
suspicions and frightful imaginations. Then the 
arms are folded upon the breast, the fists violently 
clenched, the rolling eyes darting fury (Othello). 
At sight of the charms of his once and still beloved 
object, reason may return, and she appears to his 
imagination like the sweetness of the rising dawn — 
(Alonzo, in " The Revenge") violent agitations suc- 
ceed, and this monster-breeding fancy represents her 
now as false as she is fair. His words are uttered 
with fury, and he spurns her from him. He throws 
himself on the ground, then he springs up, and with 
perturbed looks and actions, rails against all woman- 
kind (Castalio, in " The Orphan. ") As poets have 
variously described this passion, an actor must ac- 
cordingly vary his representation of it. As he must 
frequently fall upon the ground, he should pre- 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 8l 

viously raise both hands clasped together, in order 
to denote anguish, and which will at the same time 
prevent him from hurting himself; he must then 
fall flat, either on his face or on his side, with his 
face to the audience ; for it would be ridiculous to 
see a man, who is supposed to be tormented with 
grief and fury, quietly lie down. This fall must be 
repeatedly studied, it being necessary in a variety of 
characters, and in the delineation of various passions 
and affections of the mind. 

Rage, or anger, expresses itself with rapidity, in- 
terruption, rant, harshness, and trepidation. The 
neck is stretched out, the head forward, often nod- 
ding, and shaken in a menacing manner against the 
object of the passion; the eyes alternately staring 
and rolling, the eyebrows drawn down over them, 
and the forehead wrinkled into clouds ; the nostrils 
stretched wide, and every muscle strained; the 
breast heaving, and the breath fetched hard ; the 
mouth open, and drawn on each side towards the 
ears, showing the teeth in a gnashing posture ; the 
feet often stamping; the right arm frequently thrown 
out, and menacing, with the clenched fist shaken, and 
a general and violent agitation of the whole body. 

Peevishness, or ill-nature, is a lower degree of 
anger, and is therefore expressed in the above 
manner, only more moderately; with half sentences 
and broken speeches, uttered hastily; the upper lip 
drawn up disdainfully; the eyes asquint upon the 
object of displeasure. 

Malice, or spite, sets the jaws, or gnashes with 
the teeth: the mouth is drawn towards the ears; 
both fists clenched, and the elbows bent in a straining 
manner. The tones of voice and expression are 
much the same with those of anger, but the pitch 
not so loud. 

Envy is a little more moderate in its gestures than 
malice, but much the same in kind. 



82 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Revenge, tyranny, and cruelty, are expressed in 
the same manner as rage, malice, and the other 
irascible passions. 

Hatred, or aversion, expressed to or of any person 
or thing that is odious to the speaker, occasions his 
drawing back or avoiding the approach of what he 
hates ; the hands are at the same time thrown out, 
spread, as if to keep it off; the face turned away 
from the side toward which the hands are thrown 
out; the eyes looking angrily, and asquint, the same 
way the hands are directed; the eyebrows drawn 
downward; the upper lip disdainfully drawn up; 
the pitch of the voice loud, the tone chiding, very 
unequal, surly, vehement. 

Commendation, or approbation, from a superior 
puts on the aspect of love (excluding desire) and 
respect, and expresses itself in a mild tone of voice ; 
the palms of the hands towards the person approved. 

Courage, steady and cool, opens the countenance, 
and gives the whole form an erect and graceful air ; 
the accents are strong and articulate ; the voice firm 
and even. 

Exhorting, or encouraging, as of an army by a 
general, is expressed with some part of the looks 
and action of courage. 

Gravity, or seriousness, draws down the eyebrows 
a little ; casts down, or shuts, or raises the eyes to 
heaven ; shuts the mouth, and pinches the lips close ; 
the posture of the body and limbs is composed, and 
without much emotion ; the speech slow and solemn, 
the tone unvarying. 

Inquiry into an obscure subject fixes the body in 
one posture ; the head stooping and the eyes poring; 
the eyebrows drawn down. 

Attention to an esteemed or superior character has 
the same aspect; the eyes often cast down upon the 
ground, sometimes fixed on the face of the speaker, 
but not too pertly. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. S3 

Modesty, or submission, bends the body forward ; 
levels the eyes to the breast, if not to the feet of 
the superior character ; the voice low, and the tone 
submissive. 

Anxiety, or perplexity, which is always attended 
with some degree of uneasiness, draws all parts of 
the body together ; , gathers the arms upon the 
breast, unless one arm covers the eyes, or rubs the 
forehead; draws down the eyebrows; hangs the 
head upon the breast; casts down the eyes, shuts 
and pinches the eyelids close ; suddenly the whole 
body is vehemently agitated; the actor should 
sometimes walk about hastily, and stop abruptly. 
In soliloquies the tone of his voice is sometimes 
low, sometimes vehement ; his words sometimes 
slow, and sometimes quick. If speaking to another, 
his pauses are occasionally long. 

Vexation agitates the whole frame; and besides 
expressing itself with the looks, gestures, restless- 
ness, and tone of perplexity, it adds those of com- 
plaint, fretting, and lamenting. 

Pity, a mixed passion of love and grief, looks 
down upon the object of compassion with lifted 
hands; eyebrows drawn down; mouth open, and 
features drawn together; the voice is frequently to 
be interrupted with sighs ; the hand sometimes em- 
ployed in wiping the eyes. An actor, however, 
should not be fond of displaying his handkerchief, 
which is more becoming an actress. He should re- 
collect that weeping is effeminate, and may be dero- 
gatory to his character ; but, in some cases, a hero 
may even to his honour weep. 

Shame turns away the face from the beholder ; 
hangs the" head; casts down the eyes, and draws 
down the eyebrows; the speech is delivered in 
faltering accents. 

Shame, or confusion, in comedy, admits of some 
ridiculous gestures and grimaces. 



84 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Remorse casts down the countenance, and clouds 
it with anxiety ; hangs down the head ; draws the 
eyebrows down upon the eyes; the right hand 
beats the breast; the teeth gnash; the whole body 
is strained and violently agitated. If this remorse 
be succeeded by the more gracious disposition of 
penitence and contrition, then the eyes are raised 
(but with great appearance of doubting and fear) to 
heaven, and immediately cast down upon the earth. 
The actor or actress should occasionally weep ; the 
knees are bent; the arms spread in a suppliant 
posture, and the voice of deprecation is uttered with 
sighs, groans, timidity, hesitation, and trembling. 

Boasting, or affected courage, is loud, blustering, 
threatening; the eyes stare; the eyebrows drawn 
down ; the face is red and bloated ; the mouth 
pouts out; the voice hollow and thundering; the 
arms are set akimbo ; the head often nodding in a 
menacing manner, and the right fist clenched, 
brandishing from time to time at the person threat- 
ened ; the right foot is often stamped upon the ground ; 
the legs take longer strides, and the steps are 
heavy. 

Pride assumes a lofty look ; the eyes are open, but 
with the eyebrows considerably drawn down; the 
mouth pouting out, mostly shut, and the lips pinched 
close; the words drawl out; a strut, with a slow, 
stiff, bombastic affectation of importance ; the arms 
are generally akimbo; and the legs at a distance 
from one another, taking large and solemn strides. 

Obstinacy adds to the aspect of pride, or dragged 
sourness, like that of malice. 

Authority opens the countenance, but draws down 
the eyebrows a little, so far as to give the look of 
gravity. 

Commanding requires an air a little more pe- 
remptory, with a look rather severe or stern; the 
hand is held out, and moved toward the person to 



-i 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 85 

whom the orders are given, with the palm upwards, 
and the head nods toward him. 

Forbidding, on the contrary, draws the head 
backward, and holds out the hand, with the palm 
towards the person; the voice is bold, and the 
accents strong. 

Affirming, if with an oath, is expressed by lifting 
the open right hand, and both hands and eyes 
toward heaven; sometimes kneeling; but if con- 
science be only appealed to, the right hand is laid 
upon the breast. 

Denying is expressed by pushing the open right 
hand from you, and turning the face the contrary 
way. 

Refusing, when accompanied with displeasure, is 
done with a visible reluctance which occasions the 
bringing out the words slowly, and with a shake of 
the head, 

Granting, when done with unreserved good will, 
is accompanied with a benevolent aspect and tone of 
voice; the right hand pressed to the left breast, to 
signify how heartily the favour is granted, and the 
benefactor's joy in conferring it. 

Dismissing, with approbation, is done with a kind 
aspect and tone of voice ; the right hand open, gently 
waved toward the person. With displeasure, besides 
the look and tone of voice, which suits displeasure, 
the hand is hastily thrown out toward the person 
dismissed, the back part toward him, the countenance 
at the same time turned away from him. 

Judging demands a grave steady look, with deep 
attention; the countenance altogether clear from any 
appearance of either disgust or favour ; the accents 
slow, distinct, emphatical, accompanied with little 
action, and that very grave. 

Reproving puts on astern aspect; lengthens the 
voice, and is accompanied with gestures, not much 
different from those of threatening, but not so lively. 

I 



86 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Threatening puts on the same look and voice of 
reproving: brandishes the right hand, and some- 
times shakes it; the voice strong,andthe accents quick. 

Acquitting is performed with a benevolent, tranquil 
countenance, and tone of voice ; the right hand, if 
not both open, waved gently toward the person ac- 
quitted, expressing dismission. 

Condemning assumes a severe look, but mixed 
with pity; the sentence is to be expressed as with 
reluctance, 

Pardoning differs from acquitting, in that the lat- 
ter means clearing a person, after trial, of guilt; 
whereas the former supposes guilt, and signifies 
merely delivering the guilty person from punishment. 
It requires some degree of severity in aspect and 
tone of voice, because the pardoned person is not an 
object of entire unmixed approbation; otherwise its 
expression, is much the same as granting. 

Teaching, explaining, or giving orders, to an in- 
ferior, requires an air of superiority to be assumed ; 
the features are to be composed to an authoritative 
gravity ; the eyes steady and open ; the eyebrows 
a little drawn over, but not so much as to look surly 
or dogmatical (except in the character of a pedant) ; 
the pitch of the voice must be strong and clear, the 
tone varying according as the emphasis requires, 
and much accenting is necessary in expressing mat- 
ter of this sort; the articulation must also be distinct, 
the utterance slow, and the manner peremptory. 

Arguing requires a cool, sedate, attentive aspect, 
and a clear, slow, emphatical accent, with much de- 
monstrative action of the hand. 

Veneration, or addressing Heaven, requires, during 
the speech, the head to be raised, and the eyes lifted ; 
after the speech, the head shouldbow, and the brows 
be brought down in the most respectful manner ; 
one knee should be bent, and the features should 
demonstrate the most profound gravity. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 87 

Duty, or respect, for a parent or superior, puts on 
the look and gesture of modesty. 

Giving, inviting, soliciting, and such like actions, 
which suppose some degree of affection, real, or pre- 
tended, are accompanied with much the same looks 
and gestures as express love, but more moderate. 
In soliciting it is frequently necessary to kneel, and 
to speak with ardour. 

Wonder, or amazement (without any other interest- 
ing passion, as love, esteem, &c.) opens the eyes, 
sometimes raising them, but oftener, and more ex- 
pressively, fixing them on the object, if visible, with 
the look (except the wildness) of fear ; if the hands 
hold any thing at the time when the object of wonder 
appears, they immediately let it drop, unconsciously ; 
the whole body fixes in a contracted, stooping pos- 
ture, the mouth open, and the hands held up 
open. 

Admiration, a mixed passion, consisting of wonder, 
and love, or esteem, takes away the familiar gesture 
and expression of love, but keeps the respectful look 
and attitude, like that of modesty and veneration ; 
the eyes are opened wide, and now and then raised ; 
the mouth opened ; the hands lifted up ; and the 
tone of voice rapturous. 

Gratitude puts on an aspect full of complacency, 
or love ; if the object thereof be a character greatly 
superior, it expresses much modesty and submission ; 
the right hand pressed upon the breast accompanies 
(very properly) the expression of sincere and hearty 
sensibility of obligation. 

Curiosity, as of a busy-body, opens the eyes and 
mouth ; lengthens the neck ; bends the body for- 
ward ; and fixes it in one posture, with that of ad- 
miration, assuming alternately the looks of hope, 
desire, attention, &c. 

Persuasion, puts on the look of moderate love ; its 
accents are soft, flattering, emphatical, and articu- 
late. 



88 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

Tempting, or wheedling, expresses itself much in 
the same way as persuasion, only carrying the fawn- 
ing part into excess. 

Promising is expressed by benevolent looks ; the 
nod of consent, and the open hands gently moved 
toward the person to whom the promise is made, the 
palms upwards : the sincerity of the promise may be 
expressed by laying the right hand gently upon the 
breast. 

Affectation displays itself in a thousand different 
gestures, motions, airs, and looks, according to the 
character. Affectation of learning gives a stiff forma- 
lity to the whole person; the words come out slowly, 
and every sentence is pronounced with solemnity, (in 
Doctor Pangloss, in "The Heir at Law," Gradus, 
"Who's the Dupe," Lingo, in the " Agreeable Sur- 
prise," &c.) Affectation of piety turns up the eyes 
now and then ; the hands are clasped together, and 
often lifted ; and the head often shaken with vehe- 
mence; the tone of the voice is canting — ("The 
Hypocrite.") Affectation of elegance and finery 
tosses the head with conceit, minces the words, and 
often assumes a squeaking voice ; uses the eye-glass 
frequently ; lolls about ; and throws himself in all 
the attitudes of a man of fashion — (Jessamy, in 
"Lionel and Clarissa," Lord Foppington, in "The 
Trip to Scarborough," Gradus, in the second act of 
"Who's the Dupe,'' Tom Shuffleton, in "John Bull," 
&c.) Affectation of drunkenness displays forced 
staggers, and assumes forced hiccups — (Don Felix, in 
the fifth act of " The Wonder.") Affectation of love 
assumes all the manners of that passion, mixed with 
the looks of hypocrisy — (Millwood, in " George 
Barnwell.") Affectation of beauty, in order to cap- 
tivate the beholder, puts the actress by turns into all 
sorts of forms, appearances, and attitudes. The 
coquetish affectation of a young lady is displayed by 
many unnatural gestures, and a continual admiration 
of her own sweet self— (Miss Sterling, in " The 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 89 

Clandestine Marriage.") That of an old maid is 
displayed by an awkward imitation of youth and ju- 
venile manners — (Laurelia Durable, in " Raising 
the Wind.") Affectation of fashion in an old maid 
is expressed by a pompousness of accent, combined 
with extreme awkwardness — (Mrs. Heidelberg, in 
" The Clandestine Marriage.") Such characters can 
seldom be overacted. 

Sloth appears by yawning, dozing, snoring ; the 
head dangling sometimes on one side, and sometimes 
on the other; the arms stretched out; the eyes 
heavy, and sometimes closed; the words drawling 
out, scarcely audible, and sometimes broken off. 
People who walk in their sleep (Lady Macbeth) ap- 
pear as if in a dream with their eyes open. 

Fatigue gives a general langour to the body; the 
countenance is dejected ; the arms listless ; and the 
legs in walking, are dragged heavily along, and seem 
at every step to bend under the w T eight of the body ; 
the voice is weak. 

Intoxication, or drunkenness, shows itself by the 
eyes half shut, sleepy, stupid, and inflamed; an idiot 
smile, a ridiculous surliness, or affected bravado, 
mark the countenance ; the words are interrupted by 
hiccups, and without proper articulation ; the head 
seems too heavy for the neck ; the arms dangle from 
the shoulders ; the legs totter and bend at the knees ; 
and a general incapacity exhibits human nature sunk 
below the brutal. The actor, in staggering, may 
sometimes have occasion to fall, which must be done 
with great adroitness, as a drunken man's falls are 
generally violent. 

Complaining when under violent pain, (Aboan, in 
"Oroonoko,") distorts the features, almost closes the 
eyes, and sometimes raises them wistfully; opens 
the mouth, gnashes the teeth, draws up the upper 
lip, draws down the head upon the breast, and the 
whole body together ; the arms are violently bent on 

i 2 



90 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

the elbows, and fists strongly clenched ; the voice is 
uttered in groans* 

Dotage, or infirm old age, shows itself by hollow- 
ness of eyes and cheeks, dimness of sight, deafness 
and tremor of voice, hams weak, knees tottering, 
hands or head paralytic, hollow coughing, frequent 
expectoration, breathless wheezing, occasional groan- 
ing, and the body stooping under an insupportable 
load of years — (Adam, in the " Iron Chest.") 

Absence of mind displays an inattention to what 
passes, and commits every mistake with a seeming 
unconsciousness ; the least appearance of art destroys 
the whole effect of the character. 

Hypocrisy has generally a smile on the face when 
the person to be deceived is present ; and when alone, 
in his soliloquies, the villain is to be pourtrayed in 
the countenance — lago, in " Othello," Maskwell, in 
the "Double Dealer." 

Folly gives the face an habitual thoughtless grin, 
or is sometimes more effectually expressed by a wild 
stare and a vacuity of countenance — (Jacob Gawkey, 
in the "Chapter of Accidents.") Such characters 
admit of many grimaces and ridiculous gestures, &c. 

Madness opens the eyes to a frightful wildness, 
rolls them hastily and wildly from object to object, 
distorts every feature, and appears all agitation ; the 
voice sometimes loud, and sometimes plaintive, ac- 
companied with tears — (Octavian, in the "Moun- 
taineers.") 

Sickness displays extreme languor in every motion 
and utterance, the eyes dim, the voice faltering, the 
hands shaking, and the knees tottering. 

Fainting (which is common in ladies' characters) 
is represented by a seeming sudden deprivation of 
all senses. 

Death is exhibited by violent distortion, groaning, 
gasping for breath, stretching the body, raising it, 
and then letting it fall j dying in a chair, as often 



_ 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 91 

practised in some characters, is very unnatural, and 
has little or no effect. 

On this subject, a notice appeared in Mr. Leigh 
Hunt's Tatler, relative to the acting of Kean, that 
is worth all the rules that can be laid down. It was 
communicated by a brother actor, and we extract that 
portion of it that related to his dying in Hamlet and 
Othello. 

kean's dying scenes. 

" In Othello, death is occasioned by piercing him- 
self to the heart with a poignard : can you not mark 
the frozen shudder as the steel enters his frame, 
and the choking expression, with distended eyes 
and open mouth, the natural attendants of such an 
agony ? Death by a heart wound is instantaneous. 
Thus does he pourtray it ; he literally dies standing. 
It is the dead body only of Othello that falls ; heavily 
and at once ; there is no rebound which speaks of 
vitality and of living muscles. It is the dull weight 
of clay seeking its kindred earth." 

But the scene that actors admire most (perhaps 
auditors from the remoteness least), is his death in 
Hamlet. The prince does not die of a sword- wound, 
but from the poison impregnated in that wound : of 
^ourse, from its rapidity in doing the work of death, 
X must have been a powerful mineral. What are 
the effects of such a poison ? Intense, internal pain, 
wandering vision, swelling veins in the temple. All 
this Kean details with awful reality ; his eye dilates 
and then loses lustre ; he gnaws his hand in the vain 
effort to repress emotion ; the veins thicken in his 
forehead ; his limbs shudder and quiver ; and as life 
grows fainter, and his hand drops from between his 
stiffening lips, he utters a cry of expiring nature, 
so exquisite, that I can only compare it to the stifled 
sob of a fainting woman, or the little wail of a suf- 
fering child, 



92 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



NEW READINGS, &c. 

A straining after originality has been the ruin of 
many actors, and however ineffective the system of 
treading only in a beaten track may be, it will be 
found less annoying than a sacrifice of sense to 
novelty. The modern system of acting by making 
points, instead of playing the character as a w T hole, 
has been very injurious to the best interests of the 
drama, and some of our most popular performers 
may be said rather to play tricks in certain characters 
than to act them. The number of disputed readings 
is very limited, and though I cannot pretend to recal 
them all to the minds of my readers, one or two may 
serve to awaken their recollections on the subject ; 
Hamlet was always made to say — 

" Did you not speak to it? " 

to Horatio, until the good sense of John Kemble 
discovered that it should be thus delivered — 

" Did you not, &c." 

for Hamlet meant to express his wonder that Hora- 
tio, his friend, should neglect to address the ghost. 

In Macbeth there is a disputed passage, some de- 
livering it — 

" Hang out your banners on the outward wall — 
The cry is still they come." 

And others — 

" Hangout your banners. On the outward wall 
The cry is still they come." 

And Mrs. Siddons, in Lady Macbeth, has given a 
new sense to a popular passage. All performers had 
replied to the Thane's doubt, with — 
" WTr'fiul." 

as ridiculing the idea or possibility of failure. Mrs. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 93 

Siddons delivered it as if her mind was made up to 
the worst that could ensue — 

" We fail." 

In Mercutio, it has been usual to say — 

* A dream — Oh! then I see Queen Mao has been with you." 

Others read it — 

"A dream — Oh ! then I see — 

Queen Mab has been with you, &c." — 

applying the words, " Oh ! then I see," in their col- 
loquial acceptation — Oh ! now I perceive. 

Mr. Kean's returning, in Hamlet, to kiss Ophelia's 
hand after he has bid her "to a nunnery," is de- 
cidedly a new reading, as it marks his sense that 
Hamlet did not mean the reproach he uttered, and 
that he loved Ophelia. 

Dowton, when he played Shylock at Drury, made 
a point in a similar manner ; he stood firmly whilst 
he heard the duke's judgment pronounced, until the 
sentence of changing his religion came, at the men- 
tion of which he fainted ; this was strictly in keeping 
with Shylock's character — a cruel and revengeful 
being is likely to be a bigot, and the idea was both 
novel and excellent. 

Miss Kelly, in Lucy, repeats the line — 

" Shall I go with you ?" 

thrice, once as a casual question, then as a demand, 
and lastly, as an entreaty. 

The part of Valverde, in " Pizarro," is a bugbear 
to most performers, but I remember a gentleman, on 
the Birmingham boards, exciting universal admira- 
tion by the manly and pathetic manner in which he 
uttered this line to Elvira — 

" Whatever be my faults to others, / have none to you" 

I have heard John Bur greeted with three rounds 
of applause, and seen Roque become the third part, 
in point of effect, in the " Mountaineers." Great 



94 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

care, however, should be taken not to attempt to 
make a part a feature, that is only a portion of the 
feature of the play. Paris must not be long in his 
dying scene, because he throws Romeo into a 
dilemma ; but this consideration should not induce 
the performer to fall, as if struck by lightning, and 
move no more. 

To see a minor character in a play overdoing it, 
to vie with the hero, is as ridiculous as to hear the 
second singer in a duet straining to become louder 
than the first. 

On this subject I shall extract a few remarks from 
the work already quoted, well convinced that they 
will be more acceptable than any I could make: — 

" The subalterns of a company will not be per- 
suaded of it, yet nothing is more certain than that 
there requires less merit and parts to make a figure 
in trifles, than in characters of consequence, and that 
it is better to be applauded in a livery than laughed 
at in embroidery. 

" The supposing that good parts make people play 
well, cannot, indeed, much injure the characters of 
performers of established reputation, but the prin- 
ciple in itself is false, and the conclusions drawn 
from it occasions great imperfections in the gene- 
rality of our theatrical representations. The greater 
part of the young players conclude from it, that as 
they can expect nothing better for some years than 
to be made to put up with the least advantageous 
characters, they need not take a great deal of pains 
about them, since they would be only overlooked if 
they did. They think it a sort of injustice in an 
audience to expect any great perfection in them, 
while they continue in this class, and persuade them- 
selves that they may pass well enough without many 
of those natural advantages which the players who 
appear in the principal characters are expected to 
have. 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 95 

" It is not to be denied, indeed, that the excellence 
and importance of the character represented, con- 
tributes greatly to make the player shine in it ; and 
it is equally true, that an audience are patient under 
a sort of mediocrity in the performers of the lower 
characters. People do not trouble themselves nearly 
so much about the manner in which the parts of little 
consequence to the fable are played, as about the 
justness of the representation of those which are 
essential to the conduct of the whole ; but it is also 
true, that a good actor will often be able to give a 
sort of importance to a subordinate part, which, 
while as carelessly played as such usually are, the 
audience would never have known the beauty of it.* 
It is also certain, that though, in consideration of 
the deficiency of a number of proper subjects, we 
are induced to pardon, in the persons who only play 
subordinate parts, the want of a peculiarly graceful 
figure, or of that superiority in the gifts of nature in 
general, which we look for in the players of prin- 
cipal parts, yet we expect to find them tolerable ; 
and, indeed, there is not one of the natural advan- 
tages which we require to be possessed eminently 
by the first persons of the theatre, but we desire to 
see in some degree in all the rest. 

" Let us look into any one of the plays of our 
writers of credit, and examine by it the merits of 
this point, We shall find all the characters engaged 
in the whole play concerned in animating and giving 
force to every scene of it, either by the share their 
passions give them in the incidents of it, or by that 

* The very first-rate actors would find a way of increasing their 
reputation greatly, if they would sometimes take a pride in ap- 
pearing in the second, or even the third parts, in our better plays. 
The honour of occasioning an audience to discover beauties in a 
part which they had never found in it before, is, in reality, much 
superior to that of obtaining applause from any of those grand cha- 
racters which would itself command it, even though performed by 
but a moderate player. 



96 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

which they give to the passions of the rest, by the 
difficulties and perplexities they find themselves in, 
or by those into which their cunning, or their ab- 
surdity, throw the persons whom they mean to 
injure, or to serve ; by their well concerted blunders, 
the happy fruits of the sprightliness of the author's 
imagination, are the funds of everlasting pleasure to 
the greater part, at least, of every audience, and, 
when nicely conducted, to the whole ; or, finally, by 
their ambiguous action or discourse, which, pre- 
senting two separate faces, gives occasion to the 
error of some other character, which is to be de- 
ceived, and by their countenance kept up in the 
mistake they were destined to raise. The very 
lowest characters in comedy are, in this light, to be 
continually in motion, and they keep our minds agi- 
tated during the whole piece. The very least among 
these are honoured with the name of actor, in such 
or such a play ; a name only given to the persons in 
a dramatic work, because they ought to be in con- 
tinual action during the performance of it. 

" Yoice and memory are said by many to be all the 
qualifications that are necessary to the subordinate 
actors ; but can voice and memory alone be sufficient 
for the player, in representing those characters, 
which, though not placed in the very fullest points 
of view, are yet often not less difficult to perform 
than even the capital part in the play? If the 
players of this lower rank want understanding, or 
fire, or, above all things, if nature has left them 
deficient in sensibility, how is it possible that they 
should succeed, we do not say to please, but barely 
to make themselves supportable, even in the less 
considerable of those lesser characters, since we find 
there is not one of them on whom the more eminent 
personages of the piece, in a greater or smaller 
degree, have not a dependance." 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 97 

ON BYE PLAY, STAGE BUSINESS, &c. 

An evil habit has crept into our dramatic exhi- 
bitions, of always bestowing a purse with the con- 
tents, or a pocket-book with the notes in it; our 
intercourse with society convinces us of the folly of 
this ; no man gives away his pocket-book, which in 
all probability contains memoranda useful only to 
himself. I am not weak enough to think my obser- 
vation may induce a reform in this particular, but it 
is the duty of every man to enter his protest against 
absurdity, and I shall not fail to do so, even from a 
conviction of the futility of remonstrance. On re- 
ceiving a purse on the stage (in comic characters) 
the performer should invariably count its contents. 
Is it compatible with the natural eagerness, and cu- 
riosity of human nature, that a servant (and they 
are in general the dramatic receivers of purses) 
should quietly place it in his pocket, without ascer- 
taining the amount received? Property men in 
country theatres have contracted the habit of put- 
ting any substance to fill up purses, and in these 
cases it will be impossible to open them without ex- 
posing yourself to the disagreeable dilemma of 
showing broken bits of tobacco pipes, a common 
substitute for cash; by telling this person "that you 
want money to use" this danger will be obviated. 

When a letter is to be read on the stage, I have 
seen many performers stoop towards the foot lights 
to peruse it; this is extremely wrong, inasmuch as 
it is destructive of stage illusion. In day scenes the 
performer is of course presumed to receive light from 
the horizon, and in night scenes there should always 
be candles upon the stage. 

Character should never be lost sight of. I re- 
member a very inferior performer who procured 
notice, simply from his attention to minutiee; in 
Simpson (I think) when he received the letter, in- 

K 



98 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 

stead of breaking the seal, he took forth his pocket 
scissars and cut the paper round it, this was charac- 
teristic of the regular and careful habits of the man 
he assumed to be 

Lovegold pausing, in his madness of rage, to pick 
up a pin, is perhaps carrying peculiarity too far, 
but this point was thought so admirable as to awaken 
the eulogies of the best dramatic critics in Paris. 

It is really disgraceful in a London theatre to see 
such anachronisms as an eye-glass for the fop in 
" Peeping Tom of Coventry," and this I myself be- 
held at the Haymarket; nay, I remember Munden's 
wearing spectacles in a piece, the time of which was 
one century antecedent to their invention ; Kean, as 
Crichton, played on a modern piano-forte; and 
pistols and guns are used in both our theatres, in 
many pieces, the supposed dates of which are prior 
to the invention of fire-arms. 

There are a thousand little points of etiquette or 
habit, which we observe every day in society, that, 
when brought upon the stage, aid the scene im- 
mensely. In the " Jealous Wife," Lewis' bow to 
Mrs. Oakley, handed down to us by the excellent 
imitation of Jones, is one of the most effective 
things upon the stage; and the simple point of 
Count Cassell's taking snuff, during Frederick's ap- 
peal to his charity in " Lovers' Vows," marked the 
unfeeling coxcomb more than the most heartless 
speech. 

The late Mr. Knight, w r hen he performed the 
character of a footman, never answered the greet- 
ings of the audience on his entry by bowing, but 
just touched his hat as menials usually do. 

T. P. Cooke, in " The Pilot," gives a characteris- 
tic touch that is invariably recognised, and applauded. 
Previous to commencing his combat with the Ser- 
jeant he pauses to take tobacco, and afterwards, 
when he has driven his adversary from him, claps his 



THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 99 

sword into his mouth whilst he hitches up his 
trousers ; these things are practical illustrations of 
cool habitual bravery. 



WHERE TO OBTAIN DRESSES, WIGS, &c. 

Never build while you can buy, is a rule with re- 
gard to tenements — never make dresses while you 
can purchase them, is a dramatic maxim. Theatrical 
things made at home always cost treble what they 
could be purchased for abroad. The descendants of 
Moses are notorious as venders of theatrical ward- 
robes, and to Hemming's Row and Holywell Street, 
I refer my readers. For those whose pockets are well 
furnished, Messrs. Brooks and Heath, or Messrs. 
Palmer, of Tavistock Street, are the best persons to 
apply to ; but for those Thespians who study eco- 
nomy in their purchases, the tribe of Israel should 
be resorted to. It has grown into custom, always to 
offer these gentlemen half what they ask, and I pre- 
sume this is the correct mode of dealing with them ; 
I can only ow r n that, as far as my personal expe- 
rience goes, I have found their charges for dramatic 
garbs extremely moderate, and that I have frequently 
bought dresses for less money than I must have ex- 
pended in the purchase of the mere materials. 

EPAULETTES. 

All ornaments of this description may be bought 
second hand of these gentlemen, and then the silver 
or gold will always bring back part of your pur- 
chase money; but if the expense of real epaulettes 
be too great an outlay, tinsel ones can be purchased 
at from 21 s. to 30,9. per pair. There is a shop for 
these articles, immediately opposite to the stage door 
of Covent Garden Theatre. 



100 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 



The present distributor of grace to the heads of 
dramatic professors, is Mr. William Wilson, No. 2J7> 
Strand. Of the number of wigs necessary, it is 
impossible to speak ; Liston has nearly an hundred. 
Of the prices of wigs I can only give a general idea ; 
they vary of course, according to the nature and 
style of them, from 1/. to 21. or 31. A theatrical 
wig-maker, like Mr. Wilson, is generally a better 
judge of what wigs will be effective and appropriate 
than most performers. Mr. Wilson's charges are 
moderate. 

My labours are completed, and I am prepared to 
encounter all the ridicule that the peculiar subject of 
this trifle may excite. If it obtains any notice at all 
— if it is made the mark for the jests of criticism — I 
am content — it is easier to ridicule the efforts of 
others than to make similar exertions. I beg leave 
to repeat, that this production is not written with a 
view of increasing the candidates for the Sock and 
Buskin; on the contrary, I do hope it may be the 
means of diminishing their number, and, by pointing 
out the difficulties the profession involves, I am 
doing a public service. It is looked upon by young 
minds as a path of flowers ; experience too soon holds 
up the glass to truth, and pourtrays it a briary way, 
where the thorns of misery spring up beneath the 
feet of the wanderer, and where the poison trees of 
, malice and discord every where encompass him. It 
has its sunshine, but, alas ! the cheering beam is not 
for all, and the generality of the sons of the Drama 
must be content to dwell for ever in the shade. 



END. 



Printed by W. H. Cox, 5, Great Queen Street, London. 



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